


Beholden

by Leonia42



Series: A Violet in a Snowstorm [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Backstory, Coerthas, Drama, F/M, Heavensward, M/M, Romance, Stormblood, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonia42/pseuds/Leonia42
Summary: When a man lives so selflessly that he loses himself, he begins to believe he is invisible to the world and only the tender touch of a loved one can make him feel solid. Aymeric's sorrows have reached their limit, he has come to the Warrior of Light for deliverance. Venice knows the solution lies in confronting the consequences of their actions, only there can the path of redemption begin anew.[Takes place sometime between 4.1 and 4.2, may contain potential DRK 60-70 spoilers]Author's note: I would not like to give the impression that this story is a light read, hence breaking it up into chapters for suitable breaks. It delves deep into the psyches of both characters, dealing with their various emotions. It is a culmination of all the build up arising in previous stories of this series (please read those first!). If you've ever tried to love someone with depression, then you know how difficult the task is but understand how important it is to not give up. One need not have the Blessing of Light to save a life. Be excellent to each other for we are all suffering from invisible wounds.





	1. Chapter 1

_Now that the dust has settled, what will you do? Not as a Scion, I mean, but...what do you want for yourself?_

Who was Venice Lysander besides the Warrior of Light? A disillusioned revolutionary, an amateur musician at best, a sodding lucky survivor, a willful woman who claimed not to be anybody’s fool. Dissenter. Runaway. Coward. What did she want for herself? What she could not have, same as everyone else.

She was a carefree daredevil sliding through the peaks and valleys of life, putting her own sorrows back on the shelf to banish another's untold phantoms. Ishgard had polished the rough edges but she did not recognise the face reflecting back. Who had she been prior, better or worse? An adventurer beholden to none, how she clung onto those words with all her might.

The crackling fire held no enlightenment. How sick and tired she had be grown of the everwinter in Coerthas. No wonder the locals were prickly on the outside, they had to spend all day indoors to keep the shakes from overwhelming their pompous sensibilities. She glanced at the bedroll stacked neatly in the corner, should just hibernate until summer deemed to return.

The silence was deafening in that tiny room, how could the Intercessory feel as vast as an empty cathedral. She was alone. The Inquisition’s investigations had winded down with little more than a whimper, and still he had not come for her. Sidelined when she was needed most. Since when had she given into waiting?

As the day drew closer, she fumbled more with her words, how would she say it, maybe she shouldn't. 26 summers had passed but she was an adolescent falling for the first time. The anxiety almost made her laugh, a poor substitute for the self-doubts and ailing wishes for second chances. People had died, too many cause of her, she would fret over three tiny words to someone who had already said the same?

_Feel. Hear. Think._

The banquet hadn't been the beginning of her massive failures. Though she couldn't directly take responsibility for the events spurred, she had played the pivotal role. There had been other betrayals, disappointments, losses before and after. Had she changed much at all since taking her respite from the Scions' reach?

It was hard to tell but Aymeric certainly had suffered since she had come back into his life. Endless primals, endless war. Did any of the victories amount to anything worthwhile? Who was she but a harbinger of disorder, disguised behind the veil of hope.

Nobody had asked Venice how she felt when the celebrations started in Ala Mhigo. Nobody thought there was any reason to, victory again ripped from the jaws of certain doom, the Warrior of Light invincible as they had come to rely. Her power grown once more, eclipsing the dreaded Zenos and his fused primal, what could she not achieve.

Wavering as she had before pressing on, she knew it had to be done but when she had seen the Temple Knight colours, she wanted to stay back to fight with her brethren. It was too close, if Zenos had won, they were all gathered there in one place to fall in one swoop of the reaper’s scythe. So she fought, to protect what she held dear.

Over and over, another rule written by the bad guys, the Ascians changing the game whenever it suited them. Hydaelyn’s champion, an article of war and nothing more. Her place in Garlemald had never been any more assured but it had been her own destiny. Who wanted the responsibility of the Blessing of Light, how did one know it was a good and just cause, had the Warriors of Darkness not proven that everything was not as it seemed on the surface. Beneath the radiance and the epic battles, what was she?

Again, the fire held no answers. Her heart was waxing lyrical, as the room’s former master was famously known to do. He should have been there. Never saw the end, never saw the beginning of new life, never saw them squander the gift bestowed. What would Haurchefant have made of the Ala Mhigan war? He would have rushed in at the head of the forces, sword and shield in hand, ready for a grand adventure.

She rarely had a day without thinking of that boastful grin, she knew it was folly to dwell on what could not be controlled by her own two hands and yet, and yet..

Perhaps it would have been easier to accept if she had not seen others defy the Lifestream’s grasp. Or if she didn’t have to watch others hold onto the selfsame laments. Her own family looked at her as if she had always been there, treated her as if she were him. They all mourned in their own fashion, some had not confronted the reality at all, could not forgive themselves.

The drumbeats, steady and slow, not long before the next foray. Were they any more ready than when she had first returned to city of churches? No, she wasn’t at any rate. Stuck in the mud as when she had first arrived, dragging him down with her, how much good had she done of her own merit. Her successes relied on others and they relied on her to land the finishing blow. Every fucking time.

A nation did not change overnight, a thousand years of war could be decided with one battle but hearts and souls might not heal before their aether ran out. She was aching, physically for something more, broken inside and neglecting her own injury. Tears dotted her cheeks, she swiped uselessly at them with her gauntlets. Her friends had come and gone, those before the Wall and those after, leaving her to learn and appreciate a new, revolving door of fleeting faces. All she wanted to do was crawl in bed at the manor and sleep off the next moon.

But she was a Scion and an Echo user besides, that meant the next primal threat was hers to contend. The primals in themselves were not evil or even interested in destruction necessarily, it was not their intent to dry up the land which would be squabbled over by mortal, fighting men. Everything was a contest, the dragons had witnessed the bloody cycle and thought to break it at one stage. The eikons were many and endless, as there were colours in the wind, as the different fabrics of life could imagine. The methods to summoning were just as varied.

How had Ysayle done it, was Hydaelyn grooming her as Venice’s replacement? She hardly would have had to prove herself, more than willing was she to yield the responsibility. It always came back to the eikons, how to control them, how to manage their followers. Shinryu could have been the end for them all, as if the monster calling him were not enough of a threat. Too many sought power, denying it to the rest. The monsters on the outside calling the monsters beyond, when all it took was man to destroy himself.

And sometimes it wasn’t a matter of a complex ritual, holding a single object could call forth the end like in Othard. She was certain more unpleasant possibilities would emerge as the fighting for Eorzea’s preservation reached its next dramatic clash. By their very nature, the process could not end, the Garlean banishment of prayer and belief had no effect and in fact, created a nation with a chip on its shoulder.

Meanwhile, the rules kept shifting, the board kept tilting, the Ascians kept laughing their fucking immortal arses off, and she would not find herself. What of their plans for her, would she only bring pain wherever she went? If her belief was strong enough, what could she unleash? A breathing demi-god in the presence of lesser beings, no matter how much she tried to tell them it was otherwise. The other knights had wary looks when she took her turn to practice, afraid to pair off against the godslayer.

Ishgard. What was it about that city of stone in the coldest corner of the realm that filled her with hope and warmth, even after she had witnessed the skeletons drowning in the church’s cupboards? Her family, her home, everything worth fighting and dying for lay within those walls. They could be better, they only had to try. If for a little while, mortal life could enjoy itself between the conflicts and the march of death, that was worth everything.

 _Stop your wallowing_ , she told herself though it sounded more like Fray’s low tone murmuring in her ear. _Wallowing is for pigs._

She pulled out the Dark Knight soulcrystal, running her finger over where the crack had been. The journey wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Her wounds were present but they were closing, his were not. What good would it be to find herself if Aymeric was not also healed? Knowing the patterns as she did, they would require each others’ help to get back on their feet.

So long as they were the tools of others, they would keep missing their respective paths. Wherever they may lead, twisting and turning across each other, true to the definition of wanderlust, theirs alone to traverse. No more being taken for granted, only he had cared about her wishes. The man in blue, sad as he was, ever there for her to confide. The constant. Cultivator of faith, he valued that she was someone beyond her deeds. A near identical reflection of what she saw in him.

Anger hotter than a thousand suns overwhelmed her as she thought of his handsome face. Cut out when he needed her most, what was he thinking! Not thinking at all was the likelier answer, not with any sort of logic of the mind.

The letters had continued, hasty explanations, ramblings about contingencies of keeping her reputation soil free in case all else went to hell. While his own clout with the people waxed and waned, her heroism was a reservoir untapped.

Apologies, lots of apologies. _Excuses_.

The door creaked and groaned then, cold air threatened to put out the paltry fire. She did not make an effort to turn around, cloistered armour not worth the ensuing chafe.

“Not now, Emma..” she waved away the intrusion, growling with derision.

A pleasant fragrance reached her in familiar greeting, enveloping the small distance between them, the cold snap disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. She closed her eyes and let the anger drift out with the unwanted elements.

Wild lavender proudly protruding against the hillside facing the morning sun, zest of a freshly plucked honey lemon, the slowly released aroma of rosemary immersed at low heat, contrasted heavily with a blatant, sweaty oil tincture used to maintain the pristine glean of reflective platemail, all underpinned with the melted hint of spent candles emanating like a worn-out afterthought.

Her heart lifted, the words already out, but the tall man with the messy dark hair was not her nosey brother. With sky blue eyes like mid-afternoon at the peak of summer, Aymeric could not let down the well-rehearsed mask even for her. Caution brought him to an immediate halt, for he was momentarily stunned by the memories, seeing ghosts that were no longer there.

It was the damnable room, the same dampening effect had hit her square in the face as well, as if concussed by a close-range dragonkiller barrage. The potent notes of the past flooded over his features, reverberations of Alphinaud punching above the prodigy’s weight, composing compassionate sonatas with Haurchefant, waiting for Venice, the lead soprano, to steer them towards hope and salvation.

There it was: the faint smile, the lighting up like a festive tree, the hint of a humble request ready to be asked.

A fortnight had passed since their paths had crossed, she should have been ecstatic but only sadness befell her, to see him alive was reason enough to celebrate. Surely he had come to make amends, given the two mugs he cradled in the nook of his arm, his cloak sighing back into place as the door blocked out the blizzard’s dirge. One look at the lone occupant knelt by the low fire and he seemed to have forgotten all his purpose.

Neither of them required anything in that moment but the others’ growing smile.

“Welcome to the Falling Snows,” she greeted him properly, delicately reaching with her gauntlets for his outstretched gift, nestling it preciously to similarly protected bosoms.

“I’m not intruding am I?” A humble enquiry, the chivalrous knight waiting for permission to breach her quiet vigil.

“I’d rather not be alone with my thoughts,” Venice said with honesty, her chest heavy as she tried to force back her doubts.

Aymeric looked sympathetic, sitting easily on his knees in heavy plate as if he were wearing nothing at all, the other mug placed gently against the soot-covered tiles. The position was common for one accustomed to long hours of prayer, neither his poise nor grace were diminished. Venice, on the other hand, was sprawled out every which way, chains rustling as she shuffled to make room.

“‘Tis the very sentiment that has brought me thus, amongst other things,” he said softly.

“How are you doing, _really_?” she put out a hand against his upper arm, just under the pauldrons.

“How can one sitting next to a beautiful warrior feel anything but contentment?”

“You don’t have to butter me up like one of your colleagues.”

“Nay, but I want to. What of you, throwing yourself into your training?”

“Eh, my reputation precedes me,” she shrugged. He chuckled slightly at that. “Do my misfortunes amuse you?”

“No, no it’s just..I had the same trouble when I began. You’ll get through it, like everything else, you’ll make it look easy.”

Soothing chocolate ensured only pleasant matters ran through their heads. They had plenty to say but neither was taking the lead. The fire kept them company, the heat and sound binding them.

“Do you remember how put out you were when Estinien declined to have you join our hunt in the Aery?”

“Ah, point taken. I must confess, I thought you’d be angrier about the decision.”

“I was. Angry about a lot of things, truth be told. But then a handsome gentleman showed up with hot chocolate and a tentative smile, how could I resist?”

“These were meant as an olive branch, made the way Haurchefant liked it. Seemed appropriate at the time..”

“Well, you’ve succeeded in disarming me, may as well finish what you’ve started by pulling off the rest of this armour.”

He was definitely considering what that scene might look like, the smile widening in apprehension. With melancholy aplomb to sift through, she was glad for the brief abandonment of serious sentiment.

“Dare I ask what torments you so?” he asked after a long pause, gazing into the dwindling fire while she slowly savoured what was left of the sweet beverage.

“Are you afraid to hear it?”

“Nay, my love. I would drop everything to hear your voice, to let you know that you are heard and...yearned,” his attention shifted to his lap, a warm expression turned foreign. _Nervous_.

She had seen him through many ups and downs, not once had the veneer of his confidence fallen away like fresh snow from the eaves, touched by spring’s earnest promise. Though he had tried to fold his hands in concealment, she had seen the tremor. The mountain shook with apprehension, the dried out valley waited for the glacier at its peak to unleash its fertile nutrients.

“When one opens their heart, another is more inclined to do the same.”

Venice gasped. Preoccupied with watching his reactions, not anticipating his direct approach. His boldness was unparalleled. Her own degradations had left her bare, how she had forgotten to recloth herself in time for his arrival.

“I was pondering all the things that have caused me pain. Regrets, mistakes, betrayals, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The people who have come and gone, the lives that I have touched and those who have touched mine,” she brought down her hands to hold the mug against her thighs, unable to find a satisfactory posture on the stone cold ground, “I promised myself that next we meet, I would not give into fear.”

“What have I done wrong this time?” his voice cried, the smooth accent twisted into a scathing noise. Instantly, he had misaddressed her words.

In her absence, his constitution had become frail, every shadow threatened to be his undoing. He had become deaf to the overtures of comfort and support, from her and everyone else. No longer could he see the light, for he had rendered himself blind, the darkness worn like it was part of him.

“Nothing, nothing! See, this is why I’ve been hesitant,” she attempted to explain, seeing no value in offloading herself onto an already broken soul. But if he was interested in her sense of happiness, perhaps he had not entirely given up on his own.

“The war left its mark on me, I know it should not have felt so personal to an outsider but at that time, when I was alone and didn’t recognise myself, it gave me purpose. Not a purpose I wanted but I can’t deny the friends I have made because of it.

We’re slowing down now, maybe it's a good thing to be sure. Of who we are, of where we want to go. I’ve sat and thought too long, the answer has been there all along, waiting for you..to find yourself too. I haven’t wanted to lead you astray, you needed a new cause to believe in.

I couldn’t bear it if you chose me over yourself.”

“I haven’t yet decided,” he said as if speaking to himself, long sips obscuring his intentions.

“As soon as Lucia was cleared, you sent her out on reconnaissance. Why?” Venice had no patience for his parlour tricks, she would find the note that would trigger the impending storm.

“She is the most qualified to disrupt Garlean intrusions,” a simple answer, a shrug of the shoulder.

“You’ve pushed everyone away and kept me grounded too,” she honed in, passionate anger swirling inside. No more pussyfooting about.

“You’re starting to sound a lot like Estinien.”

“We care about you! Something is definitely off, why won’t you talk about it?”

“I’m fine.” He looked over at her, faking a smile.

“You may be a politician but you’re the shittiest liar I’ve ever met!” her mug shook in her rumbling hands. The clatter settled, a piercing whisper followed, “You’re not fine.”

“No, I am not.” He agreed, placing his mug down and staring at her until she calmed down again. She hated that mask, she could not find him with it on. Nonetheless, she persisted.

“To whom do you do confide when there is no one left?”

“The Fury.” Another typically slippery response.

“That’s all well and good but She can’t do anything to actually help you, not in this lifetime. Go and call me a heretic like the rest but it is the truth.”

“Venice, I have not gone to the cathedral for confession, I’ve come to you. Will you listen to what I have to say?” He pushed back the hair that had conveniently kept him hidden, a shadow lifted. His sorrow filled eyes met hers then, waiting, begging for her honest response. Caution was gone, short of leaving the room he had no other recourse left.

“Always,” she was thrown by the shift in tone. _Finally._

The stubbornness dissolved, the first leaks of water poured into the rivers. Mentally grateful for the breakthrough but physically devoid of grace, she nudged her mug with an armoured elbow, shattering the mood quite literally.

“What shitty timing, fuck me,” she cursed herself, scrambling to reach for the shattered shards with her encumbered hands.

Fumbling to grasp the serrated edges in the accursed mitts, she poured over the folly. For half a second, she thought she heard the start of a laugh, cut off by a shallow cough. Hastily, she separated the big pieces from the small ones, then she undid the straps on one gauntlet, loosened, and tried again with one hand bare. Much easier. 

Luckily the delicious contents had been enjoyed to their fullest. Intent to avoid causing any more embarrassing damage, she leaned over and set to work, stacking pieces within the remains of the largest section with the handle intact.

Wordlessly, Aymeric’s more armoured hand joined hers, fingers twining around like thirsting roots pushing the soil away, nullifying the potential harm. She relished his touched, his desire to work in tandem with her efforts. Together they cleaned up the mess, the pieces sundered but not lost.

It had only been a handful of minutes lost in the end. They set her hubris aside, she wanted to make a colourful joke about it but the mood had not been appropriate. She would not let him get out of his need to share his burdens.

Aymeric had other ideas, there leaning across the stone tiles, cloak encompassing them both. Delicately, he cupped her chin and kissed her as the morning dew greets the broadest, most anxious leaves at the top of a crop ready for harvest. A detailed plucking of the ripest fruit at the stem, folding back the pedals the guarded the rest, as carefully as one could while balanced precariously on one’s knees. There was no earnest desperation, he had purpose and drive, and she followed suit. Hand caressing the back of the neck, pulling him onto her, her heart wanting what her mind told her had to stop.

They had shared many such intimate pleas, and yet it felt like their first completely genuine, uncompromising kiss, spontaneous and wholesome. He was prepared to pull back the curtain on his trueself, she knew not who she would see when he was done. It didn’t matter, she already loved him. No matter what irredeemable mistakes he thought himself guilty, she would wait her turn.

His own heart tempted to give into the physical tensions, wanting for immediate release from his mental trappings, he returned with a heavy sigh to the initial kneeling position. Hands on either side of him he watched her for a moment, memorising her features before closing his eyes tight. A frozen tide was rising beyond its banks, the glacier’s edge dripping with fresh melt, poised, looming. 

“This morning should not have been any different than any other.”

Thirsty for courage, he finished the contents of his own mug, placing it quietly on the sooty floor next to what was left of Venice’s clumsiness. Steeling himself for the rest of his tale, hands balled into fists, scraping at the wyvern scales of his palms, he paused.

As if the weight suddenly caused him discomfort, he undid the pauldron straps and set the upturned adamantite pieces aside. He proceeded to unravel the form fitting wyvern gauntlets from his shoulders and arms, needing to be free of material distractions.

When settled again, Venice rested her hands upon his, offering tangible affection. He continued his truth sharing unhindered, revelling in the warmth of her flesh on his, emotions floundering along with his admissions, one word after the other as if imparting an impromptu speech to a crowd in need of placation.

“I awoke not from any dream that I can recall which seemed to be an optimistic sign. Dreams have been.. sporadic, abstract, layered with unknowable symbolism lately, often leaving me confused or generally offset. This has been happening off and on since Haurchefant left us albeit not quite as frequently as it has been in these last few weeks. I assume it is the mind trying to compensate for the taxation of stress, unable to form complete images when I ought to be doing nothing of import.

But I am already struggling for focus..”

Venice interlocked her fingers with his, noting how quickly the chill had set in. She slid over awkwardly in her chainmail skirt to sit as close as possible, striking an attentive balance between overly stifling and encouraging enough, his hand squeezing back with gratitude.

Usually he was playfully telling her off for rambling, that time it was his turn to show his imperfect nature. He held his breath as long as he could while watching the flickering flames, not moving from the kneeling position that he had adopted.

“The first bad omen was a lack of will for morning tea,” he choked on a small laugh. “I know that sounds ridiculous. You must understand, my habits and routines are the staples that get me through each tumultuous day. Any deviation usually means an oncoming physical ailment. Not this time. None of the symptoms fit that prognosis,” another heavy sigh, a glance to make sure she was still with him.

“Take your time, we aren’t needed anywhere right now,” she said gently, waiting for the darkness to slip.

“I have felt these things before, many times in my youth, but never all at once or without a heedable warning. Anxiety dreams I can comprehend, but waking up numb to the physical and spiritual planes, colours dulled to their basic grey, unable to hear anything but my own, sluggish breaths. For a moment, I did not think I had woken up at all, as you sometimes have dreams within dreams.

It was as if there were invisible fetters, chaining me down. An absence of desire for.. _anything_. Whenever I tried to formulate a thought or call out, nothing happened, the fetters slithered around and constricted in response. What could have brought this on? My workload was lifting, Lucia was no longer under threat, everything was falling into place. Why was I unable to continue on as normal?

I was blind and deaf and worst of all, _complacent_. How could I face the House in such a state, pretending to have the answers they all wanted me to possess, how could I give the morning debriefing at the Congregation when I couldn’t even lift my sword? They don’t need me, or at least they should not need anyone but themselves.

Everything was pointless, if they could not already carry on without me then what hope was anything we did together? Perhaps I had grown soft, as Estinien feared. Perhaps the time had come to let them figure out their own agendas while I remained tethered forever, forgotten and useless..”

“Is that what you believe?” Venice cried out, the writing on the wall but she would not stall his advance.

“I do not know what I believe,” he shook his head, lip quivering with unrest. “Why would I rather come to this room which reminds me of all I have failed to do than go to the chapel for a priest’s blessing?”

“Because a priest would only tell you what you want to hear or nothing at all. And more to the point, the chapel was the domain of your predecessor. The birthplace of many of your maladies. You’ve come to me out of love,” she explained it neatly, surprising both of them with her candour.

“Though it was my intention to protect you, I left myself open to these.. damnable problems that I cannot name. I can not point to a single one and say that it is there. I regret wholeheartedly keeping distance between us. In hindsight, I should have been more selfish, sparing us both the quakes of loneliness.”

“I’m here now,” she said quietly. She hadn’t said much of anything about her own mental state but he always seemed to know. They weren’t even that far apart but she may as well have been in Othard since his order had been handed down. “We’ve grown quite close, haven’t we? I missed you as well.

“Nobody knows me was well as you, Violet.”

“Then they nothing at all for you share very little of yourself, Blue.”

“I know, and most of that is deliberate. My position..hardly welcomes the intervention of personal feelings. I’ve learned how to not harbour any,” he placed one hand above hers, fingers still interlocked with the other hand. _Ignoring them doesn’t mean they aren’t there_ , she thought. “I may be a poor liar as far as others are concerned, but nobody can top my ability to fool myself.”

“Why hide from me?” She could not reconcile how he could be so indecisive as far as she was concerned. Every where else he had a plan, the long game mapped out in intricate layers, minute details and variations accomodated, everything just so. But with her, he went blank, like a sand castle drowned at high tide.

“Before I was a knight, I was nobody. To survive, I had to keep to myself, to not draw unwanted attention. ‘Tis in this way I learned to watch and observe, to know what people wanted without relying on their false words, and in turn I could get what I wanted from them. Which is to say, nothing fanciful for myself but a means to make life a little more bearable than it would have been otherwise.

I had no home, no family or friends, only my wits and self-taught lessons to depend upon. Not only was a lowborn orphan, or so they thought, but there was the stench of deplorable rumours that followed my every step. Truthful, some, but all hurtful at the time. Not until I chanced about Haurchefant around the age of seven summers did fortunes begin to change.”

He made to move then, leaning back on both hands while she accommodated the transition. His eyes had gone misty, memories playing out beyond her scope. 

“Haurchefant used to help me when spirits fell, with lewd jokes or politically incorrect observations. Sometimes with drink or food when I had let myself go, an easy thing to do when one lives alone on the dangerous streets. Shyness was no boon to my predicament, neither was pride.”

She was about to point out she’d never seen him act shy but a piercing headache mounted behind her eyes. An Echo threw her squarely into his past, the mood dramatically changed along with the scenery.

\---

“Harder, Aymeric!

He needed no further encouragement, thrusting true and deep then, meeting an acceptable level of resistance before pushing to the full breadth of the hilt. Sweat trickle down his chest, dripping from sopping brow onto his opponents heaving musculature, splashing hot, carving a slow path towards the already gathered pool smattered against his stomach. Sore arms provided sufficient leverage, flexing and constricting like those of marbled athletes forever stuck in the throes of release. Under him, Haurchefant buckled, winded and grappling to hold on.

But he had missed again, the sword luckily laid flatside against his friend’s stout ribcage, his arm could not dislodge it from the tougher Elezen. A jolt as the hilt was rendered from his grasp with a deft arm bent to encircle his waist, clattering to the gravel of the sparring ring next to the shield.

After a long, orchestrated gambit of dodging and feints, taking heavy blows to give the impression he was unsteady, he had thought the upper hand was assured when the kite wood was plied from its master. But like so many other things those days, he had been wrong, ill-prepared to handle the cycle of failure.

Haurchefant did not wait for him to bow in defeat. Aymeric was tired of losing, he stood firm against the lunge rather than side-stepping as he had been expected. Seething with aches, he managed to grab the hilt of Haurchefant’s sword held out at his side, tearing it away so that both men were left with naught but their shaking arms and blistering hands.

“What is a man without his sword,” Haurchefant laughed, bracing against his shoulder while regaining the energy for more. His ice-blue hair was long, pulled up into a spikey warrior’s ponytail, with a few strands hanging in his face, the same length as Aymeric’s own wavy ringlets, touching the tops of his shoulders.

“Haven’t you had enough?” he asked, wiping his brow with the back of his arm.

“Not a chance! Could do this all day,” the younger Elezen nearly toppled over. “So could you, I reckon. How have you not tired yet? Is everything alright, my friend?”

“Same old,” he sighed. A victory would have lifted his spirits but it would not have made him any better of a knight.

“If anyone needs a stern talking to or a more abrasive lesson, you need only name them,” Haurchefant was familiar with Aymeric’s struggle to befriend his fellow squad-mates, no one cared for the lowborn pretending he could be more than a glorified squire.

“You can’t bail me out every time or they’ll think me weak,” he reminded him, hoisting Haurchefant up in one arm while retrieving his sword in the other, kicking it up out out of the dirt to his free hand. He had a lot less bruising against his smooth, noble skin, unbroken by the pommeling of his peers, not forced to work for his meals. No one would dare to touch a son of House Fortemps, bastard or not.

“You shouldn’t have so much energy leftover after a fight.”

“Who says?”

“Well, if you’d actually try and talk to people, namely the veterans, then you might find they have some interesting things to say,” Haurchefant grinned, leading him back towards one of the towers, sword casually held over his shoulder. Making friends seemed like a fruitless endeavour but he was right, he needed connections as well as talent to get anywhere.

“You’re so full of anger, why don’t you channel your frustrations into something useful? You’ve a lot of skill that the rest of these men don’t, they can barely read or write their own names. Focus on what makes you stand apart from the pack rather than pushing too hard at sword-training.”

“Spending hours in the library doesn’t impress them, Haurchefant. If anything, they feel more threatened,” Aymeric sighed. He needed every advantage he could get his hands on, plus he found it relaxing to escape into another world between the leaves. Soldiers were supposed to die young but they didn’t have to. How would he get on without studying the mistakes of the past?

“You know what you need? A good backrub!” Haurchefant wrapped his arms around his shoulders in anticipation.

He didn’t disagree, even felt the signs of a smile coming on.

They had arrived at Haurchefant’s personal chambers, technically still his father’s leftover from his tenure as the garrison commander. He’d been allowed to reappropriate it as he saw fit until he assumed the same mantle in the future, then it would become a permanent residence for official business.

The room had all the amenities in miniature: a small lounge area, a comfortable four poster bed, a cooking stove which connected its pipeworks to a private washroom. The bath was always heated, the basin spotless, wardrobe brimming with linens and towels, all thanks to a novelty of magitek acquired in far off lands. How the privileged lived their lives of luxury while the common man could barely acquire clean water to drink let alone cleanse themselves after a hard day.

“Go on, have a rinse and try to enjoy yourself for once, the world won’t end tomorrow!”

Aymeric took off his heavy sabatons by the door but kept the chainmail greaves on, never knew when would be called back in the snowfields to risk life and limb for sovereign and country. Wouldn’t that just suit the archbishop nicely, to die conveniently on his doorstep. The warm water soothed his immediate aches, his hair took on the extra curl it always did when heavily saturated. When he emerged, he had dried himself best he could, the towel still draped around his boney shoulders.

Haurchefant was preoccupied at the end of the bed, having let his hair hang loose in the enchanting style he preferred. He was running his palms over a metal shield, having cast the wood training one aside in favour of the newest acquisition. Its surface glistened with oil, the bright red unicorn glowing against a jet black background. The young knight was murmuring sweet nothings like the shield were a lover sitting in his lap.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Aymeric teased.

“Now, now! There’s enough of this fine knight to go around,” his friend beamed. “What do you think? She’s made of titanium, can’t wait to see how long she holds out. What a beauty!”

“I know you’ll put it, er, _her_ , to adequate use.”

“Aye but she can wait,” Haurchefant set the shield at the other end, draping the cloth over it affectionately before getting up. “You’re welcome to make use of my old one.”

“You’d have to show me how to wield it..”

“Shouldn’t be hard given your penchant for holding back,” he gave a wicked grin, the look of a boy with a juicy secret ready to divulge, closing the modest gap to engulf the other man around the waist. “But sometimes you need to know when to release early. If you are fighting an opponent that you are unfamiliar with, ‘tis risky to wait for him to wear himself out.”

“Are these not the sort of lessons one can read about for themselves?” Aymeric’s arms looped around to rest against Haurchefant’s, squeezing slightly, engrossed by the compact musculature around his middle. His friends arms were as sturdy as granite, as flexible as yew, firm but tender from hours spent in the yard. He was worried about his own features though he knew Haurchefant couldn’t care less whether he was as big as an ox or as willowy as a sapling.

“I’d have thought you’d like a physical lesson,” Haurchefant whispered in his ear, stealing a quick kiss against his lips.

His heart raced, fooling around had become a regular occurrence but it had not led as far as he yearned to go. 

“Much as I’d want to partake, does not the risk of getting caught increase the more often we pursue these teachings?”

“Don’t worry, nobody else has the key to this room save for my father.”

“You’ll forgive me if that doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

Haurchefant’s fingers were in the back of his hair by then, his other hand caressing down his chest. Should have put the sabatons back on over the chain pants, he was barefoot and moderately exposed. But not uncomfortable.

It was not for his own sake that he worried, two men letting off steam in the off hours wouldn’t ordinarily cause a stir. Aymeric was not ordinary, every time he tried to take something for himself the church made sure he regretted it afterwards. Had to be prodded into line at every deviation, under more pressure than any other knight in the kingdom.

No, the problem was that if a highborn were seen intertwined with a low, the latter would be charged with corrupting his fellow’s morality, whether consent was established or not. As a Temple Knight, he was afforded some immunity for misconduct, enough that it had stopped the Heavens’ Ward from interfering in his private affairs. Though reluctant, he could take the reputation hit but he dared not tarnish that of a son of the high houses.

Haurchefant was as rebellious as he, already had a grasp on him despite the modest layer of armour. ”How do you sleep at night with all the stress running through that pretty head of yours?”

“The Fury provides,” he said simply watching as Haurchefant dropped to both knees.

“Aye, but can She do this, I wonder?”

“You spoil me, brother,” he shifted from foot to foot as the initial delight began to spread.

“It’s not spoiling if you’ve earned it,” Haurchefant looked up at him, that innocent gaze, eyes full of hope and wonder. Aymeric wavered, he didn’t mind standing but to feel like the centre of attention, to be held and exalted by his best friend, every time it made him weightless. He could never put it into words, that youthful expression on Haurchefant’s face, eternally whimsical, brimming with confidence. Cheeky.

It felt like a spring morning, light rain drizzling outside, lulling one to pull the doona over close and stay in for a slumber until the storm was past. The steady pattering of droplets, warm but not too warm, a gentle roll of thunder. A cozy breakfast prepared when one found the will to sneak downstairs, doona wrapped as a cape, the waking sensation of the tea on the lips, the next sip more comfortable, eased in to be held by the tongue, mixed around gingerly before supped. The tantalising pleasure of an apple filled pastry, coated in a glaze of birch syrup, flaky and crispy on the outside, layers for the tongue to push through, every nook sucked for the fruity goodness lurking within.

Haurchefant pulled himself up then, lips against his friend’s stomach, holding his half-mast betwixt moderately calloused hands, “Come, sit down and relax. Forget the rest of the day.”

He might have protested but knew better, Haurchefant would not be satisfied until he was pampered like the sultana of Ul’dah, he was always like that, made everyone feel important, his hands working their soothing magics whilst his lips spoke of sunsets. 

On the bed, he debated whether to lay on his back or remain upright, as Haurchefant pushed his way between his legs the answer became obvious. He wanted to watch, to ensure those glorious ears were sufficiently rubbed. One hand held the left ear, a thumb placed along the inner folds, rolling back and forth. Though he had grown fuller, a stout oak where once there had been a ribbed birch, the momentum did not cease.

Steady reverberations as Haurchefant tried to match the same rhythm applied to his sensitive points, whenever he got close enough the right ear was caught and pinched in his friend’s mouth. A game was formed as they tried to outdo one another, the younger man struggling to manage both the engorged head and the thickening shaft, having to deviate his lappings for twistful strokes instead.

Already plotting how he’d return the favour at the appropriate time, the heavy pants of both men lost in the throes of their own energy. The bed enticing, the sounds of an endless drink poured, legs held around another’s bobbing shoulders, skin bare and thirsty for consistent touch. He could feel his tongue give out as his cheeks became a nest of softness, the lack of friction beginning to drive him stir crazy. Suckling on the underside, like removing the skin from a plum, scooping out the savoury flesh, pleasurable but not enough to fill one’s belly.

He was about to suggest trading places or at least removing their pants altogether when the horns blared from the next tower.

“Fucking hell,” Aymeric cursed, he used to do that more in his younger years, thought it made him look edgy and respectable.

“You can say that again,” Haurchefant groaned, leaning back on his knees. “We better get to the armoury then, don’t want that shitty pair of gloves likes last time.”

They were sent to the frontlines at the north gate, along with mostly house knights and a handful of Temple Knight recruits. Archers stayed on the walls while the rest ran uphill to keep the aevis’ at bay, a bellowing wyrm lieutenant remained in the back out of sight, organising his draconic brethren from a safe distance.

Bemused ogres waded into the ensuing melee from time to time, out of spite and boredom more than to protect their territory. The garrison was well stocked for light skirmishes but the more scalekin that they cut down, the more returned to replace their numbers, some flying in overhead keeping the archers preoccupied.

Many lives were lost, none that either Haurchefant or Aymeric had time to acknowledge, their blades moving swiftly from one beast to the next to cover their own flanks. Both had taken a few minor knocks, helping comrades fallback, helmets long since given up for an unbroken view of the carnage.

“How much longer do we have to hold out?” Haurchefant asked between broken breaths, his leg mangled by a dragon’s outstretched claw.

“Until relief arrives,” Aymeric said simply, sticking close to him, his arms in need of respite before cramps set in.

They continued on, Haurchefant favouring the other leg while his shield swept low, baiting enemies for his brother to finish off. Another horn, announcing the arrival of a fresh unit. Hoping to see the black armour of dragoons ready to slay, they were instead graced with one bold Temple Knight, a mop of white hair hanging in his face.

Favouring the lance, Ser Estinien bound with haste, happy as a puppy fetching a stick.

“Hurry, that daft fool is going to draw first blood!” one of his squad-mates shouted, beckoning the rest of the Temple Knights to take the field.

Behind them were one or two dragoons but most were simply lancers who had never fought full-sized dragons in their lives. Whether inspired or afraid of Estinien’s eagerness, they weren’t going to get left behind, and so the game was on.

Haurchefant laughed with relief, letting Aymeric hold him up. The brash lad stopped suddenly, noting the two hardened warriors who hadn’t quit when most others had.

“You live through this and drinks are on me,” Estinien whispered in Aymeric’s ear, hot breath painting down his cheek, he was certain he had turned pink. Before he could respond, the reckless knight had leapt at a biast, carving a path forward, pushing onwards to engage more menacing prey.

“Ooo” Haurchefant clapped his good knee, teasing Aymeric mercilessly on the way back to the triage. “Oh, Estinien, show me your true thrust, I want to give you a spineshatter dive, hold me tight..”

The nurse on hand gave a sheepish look as Haurchefant was handed over to be tended, “He’s.. delirious from the fighting, don’t mind him..”

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” Haurchefant suddenly got very worried, his hand reaching for Aymeric’s.

“Nay, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, following after him, dreaming of what sort of drink he ought to order.

\---

Venice awoke in Aymeric’s arms, surprised and overwhelmed with his benevolence, nobody else had greeted her with affectionate after she invaded their thoughts.

Her mind tried to make sense of what she’d witness along with the disconcerting physical memories. Part of her was immensely glad for it, to see Haurchefant again, to be immersed in his scent, to feel his lips even if they were not against her own skin. She had wondered too long what it would have felt like. 

“An Echo?” Aymeric asked, she made no effort to remove herself from his chest.

“Aye. It was of you and Haurchefant here at the garrison,” she said softly, licking her lips a bit as she recalled the sensual details.

“We would not have held out much longer that day if not for Estinien and his unit.”

“You’ve always been such big damn heroes,” she laughed.

While she was transfixed on the bedroom scene, Aymeric was more interested in other implications, his mind unable to process joy as it once did.

“He taught me many valuable lessons, knowing when to hold back over when to push forward chief among them. I know better now,” he hesitated, likely thinking that he should have pushed on that dreadful day. “There are some things I’ve been holding onto for awhile, parts of my investigations that I sought not to worry you with. It was not my intent to keep it entirely to myself, behind your back, but it seemed you had enough to deal with without adding my burdens.”

“We don’t have to go over this now..”

“I’m not going to hold back any longer. I would bear my soul to you would you be willing to listen. Perhaps it would be easier to show you. What good has caution done for either of us. How many times have we failed to say what we have truly meant?”

She searched his eyes, they were hurt and raw, so in need of her adoration. The same as Haurchefant’s had been, had he noticed it back then or was he too focused on himself. Had Aymeric denied Haurchefant’s affections as she had, only to realise later that he had made a mistake. Fuck life was complicated, love even more so.

“I cannot remain in Ishgard or any other one place too long, it’s just not feasible,” Venice began, the orchestrion stuck on the same roll. “I haven’t come here to be a personal sellsword, though if you needed one temporarily it could be arranged..”

“Do you fear that I will infringe upon your freedom? I could not, as that is what has drawn me to you in the first place. I would not ask of you to change who you are or what you must do.”

“I cannot be..” she tried again, the word caught in her throat. _Beholden. But I want to be._

“You are here right now, are you not? Speak true of your heart. You said you would not do unto me as Haurchefant did unto you. Whether the words be good or ill-omens, I must hear them. And if you cannot say them then at least let me show you with my actions how I feel about you, without expectation for recompense,” he patted her shoulders the way one might lavish a pet coeurl, his voice softened considerably, “Not everyone is using you for their own ends.”

She could not become a wife or a lady-in-waiting, there was a whole world left to save. Neither of them would sit still long enough for a traditional relationship to work. But the whole point, the whole point of the war had been to break away from convention, to upend the status quo, peace could not be achieved without freedom first bestowed.

“We can both be free,” he knew her too well and that made all the difference.

“Neither of us chose our respective callings but what we do next is entirely our decision to make,” she said firmly. They both knew what they wanted, it was a matter of making it happen. But they had waited that long, a few more words wouldn’t go amiss.

Still sitting in his lap after the Echo had caused her to collapse, she reached up to undo the clasp of his cloak, marvelling as it fell away like a waterfall into pool around his body. Three words would not let themselves be known. She kissed his neck instead, paying extra attention to the ears before pulling back, snuggling close as his bare arms held her in place.

“Tell me more about Haurchefant, please. I know so little about his youth and I would hear more of yours as well,” she rested her head upon him. They were making progress, slowly but surely and she would not squander it for a fleeting sense of personal indulgence.

“Our intimacy was the byproduct of growing up together from boyhood. At times, I would question my own existence and he’d be there to tell me the part I would play in his adventure. I would not pretend it was anything romantic. Why should I gain any more of his attention than anyone else?

Haurchefant was one of those men who couldn’t so much as greet you without coming off as flirtatious. ‘Twas often hard to tell whether he was being nice or actually fancied someone. He was well-liked by all, the heart and soul of any social gathering. Surely nobody had more friends than he. Despite being so in demand, he was always there for those in most desperate need.

All things considered, ‘twas for the best that we were not overly involved. The social hurdles aside, our paths crossed less and less after that battle. He went one way, I another. Had I brought any ill-repute to House Fortemps, I would never have gained Lord Edmont’s vital support.

Unfortunately, the pattern reoccurred for anyone that I took any interest in, rather as a friend or otherwise. The church was quick to turn any flight of fancy into an exercise of futility, there was one standard for every other Ishgardian and then there was one ambitious Temple Knight who would not be contained by their outdated ideas.

I am accustomed to standing apart, not because I am any better than anyone else, but sometimes..sometimes you just need a Haurchefant to get you through.”

She was listening intently, nodding in agreement as she recalled her own memories with their beloved friend. Not one of them was unpleasant, she wondered how Haurchefant would have pulled them out of their current Falling Snows.

Where Aymeric found the church stifling, she had another opinion, however. It was getting hard to ignore all the signs, they pointed squarely at the master of manipulation himself. 

“So how did you know he was so keen on me?” she asked.

“Because he never stopped talking about you!” he laughed, she couldn’t help but smile a little. “Haurchefant was absolutely smitten, easily your biggest fan. If he could work your name into conversation, he would do so. You made him go weak in the knees and he wanted everyone to love you as much as he did.”

“I should have noticed. I mean, he was always so energetic but I didn’t see that as directed at me in particular. And I certainly liked spending time around him, but.. I was distracted,” she let her mind wander back to the innocent days that led up to the explosive banquet.

“When Moenbryda died, I became very withdrawn. She was one of the few people that didn’t take life too seriously, always had a witty remark, super intelligent but didn’t need to show off. Haurchefant had a similar outlook. I couldn’t let myself get too attached again. He must have thought me frigid.”

“I don’t think he was put off, just assumed you were playing hard to get.”

“Timing has not been overly generous to me,” she frowned.

“I didn’t recognise you were in mourning then. I’m sorry, I should have been..more aware. How selfish I am being tonight,” he shook his head, she hugged him tight.

“It’s not your fault and frankly, there’s more on your plate right now,” she sighed, nestling back against his chest. “Tempting as it is to discuss our old friend, that path will lead us nowhere.”

“Aye, though on that point I have a request. I’ve yet to visit Providence Point, would you go with me in the morning? Your presence would hold me to account and I would appreciate the extra reassurance.”

“Sure, I’d love to,” she was surprised he hadn’t made the pilgrimage. Sometimes a visit with the past was the trigger one needed to return to the present.


	2. Chapter 2

“What was your life like before Haurchefant?” Venice asked quietly, keeping him on track.

“My earliest memory as a child was the putrid smell of smoke caught in the linens along the streets in the Pillars. ‘Twas my first time seeing the blue sky high above without buildings blocking the view,” Aymeric closed his eyes while recounting the imagery, she braced him with boths arms in case he might waiver.

“The smoke was not from the burning of wood, it was the lingering remains of a heretic, burned at the stake to a fearful crowd that could not resist the repugnant spectacle, just as the church had decreed to remind us all of the punishment that awaits the nonbelievers.”

_Ishgardian justice is more brutal than anything in Garlemald._

His expression remained neutral, the darkness thickened as her light searched for an opening.

“She was my mother and she was not a heretic,” he stared at her hard, defying her to say otherwise. He brought out the rosary she had made from a pouch on his belt, draping the beads over both their hands, declaring again, ”She was not a heretic! She believed with every onze of strength she could muster until the bitter end, her faith passed onto me, her final shelter.”

The worry lines deepened and spread, like fracturing ice under a window of solid, see-through ground, she nearly heard the crack of an oncoming avalanche. But there were no tears, his voice shook but did not break. Not quite. Still she waited, catching sight of his trueself within the shifting shroud, not knowing if she could handle full exposure when it arrived.

“She was the scapegoat of unspoken crimes, the vestige of another’s sin, an example, a symbol, but not a young woman who had been robbed of her right to life. The Inquisition accused her of conspiring with other heretics in the city, they needed no proof, only the archbishop’s approval which he was more than willing to grant. With her died his mistakes. He was free and she was not, she would never find Halone’s embrace again, condemned to damnation for what purpose but bearing a son who should never have been..”

“Aymeric, you are worthy. To me,” Venice reminded him, he was not done with his earnest tyrade.

“Thordan didn’t even attend the execution, too above revelling in the delight of another’s misery is what the church said. Such a pious, holy man, making the hard choices nobody else could stomach. No heretic had been killed that way in generations, he wanted her to suffer.

The smell didn’t leave the city for weeks. No one forgot that display. An audacious reminder to his critics that he had to the power to do as he pleased. Just as he had taken her against her will. She was not even twenty summers old, Venice. What could she have done against him? Coward.”

\---

“What did you call me?” Ser Zephirin snarled dangerously, like a starved animal scenting a meal.

“Coward!” he bellowed again so there was no mistake, his voice shaking around the confines of the dark room. The imposing interrogation suite lived up to its name, the architecture threatening to break its victim beyond recognition, mentally as well as spiritually.

The other knight yelled with disgust, crushing his prisoner’s hand under his steel sabatons, the delicate bones cracking and popping under the brief, piercing strain. Aymeric’s sword hand, his writing hand. He tried to bite back but the pain came out as a shattering scream.

Again, his voice enveloped his tormentor, causing unrest of its own.

“This is your doing! You knew the truth and yet you still came here to tip our hand. You have no idea what sacrifices we’ve made to end this war. Don’t presume to criticise our methods, traitor.”

“I would rather commit treason than blasphemy! You were sworn to protect us from these threats, not join forces with them. Fury smite this perverse corruption you’ve perpetuated-”

Zephirin stomped again, grinding flesh flatly between sole and polished floor. Why did a torture chamber need a clean floor anyway. He bit his lip, hard enough to taste blood but there was naught else he could do to pull free. Eyes watering, the rest of his body begging him to cease the fight, a yelp like the beaten dog he had become propped on all fours. He could almost make out his bleary reflection in tiles, what a mess. Blood droplets hid the shameful imagery, he rolled up the fingers on his hand for the right opportunity, hidden beneath the gap below his stomach, the last decent use for his tattered cloak.

“I serve His Eminence with all of my being, can you say the same?” Zephirin claimed boldly, agilely ignoring the accusations of the false heretic.

“I serve Ishgard!” the Temple Knight countered. “You may as well be tempered, not thinking of your own actions or their consequences. Death is all you comprehend.”

“He should have killed you when he had the chance.”

“And deny you the privilege to finally satiate your sordid desires?” he grinned, knowing he had scored a win, shortlived as it was. “Your vow of celibacy blinds you to pleasure but also blinds you to the will to love, the will to fight for what you hold dear. Was it worth it in the end?”

That sent him over the edge, a suffocating gauntlet grabbed his neck from behind, the other hand pushing down against his back so that he fell to the ground, sprawled and imprisoned within the very armour meant to protect him from such injuries. Pressure sawing against his windpipe, but Zephirin had not accounted for his oncoming fist, the metallic edges of his rings along with the wyvern scales shredding up the Heavens’ Ward’s precious face, blood filling the wound below one eye as he recoiled to gather back his vision.

He had wanted to do more damage but there was no way to turn around, his knees had been sundered in the initial scuffle, forced to the floor as he struck at any of the white knights who came for his prized sword. The rest of him had suffered considerably for his resistance, he knew the bruises would not fade for moons, the scars of his armour jammed into his flesh, used as a weapon against him, would never leave him to forget.

“Fucking bastard,” Zephirin shouted.

Aymeric really couldn’t feel any sympathy at that point, he laughed maniacally as one with no more to left to lose does, daring Zephirin to get in close again. If he were to die as his mother had, he would take down as many of his torturers with him as the Fury made possible.

“Ser? The assault has begun,” Ser Charibert’s slimy voice interrupted the intimate contest of endless provocations.

“Then why are you still here! Form up the defences, finish off this paltry rebellion,” he turned back to his victim, kneeling in close to whisper in his ear, “No matter, they have come to us to suffer as you are. But don’t worry, we’re not through with you. Not even close.”

“You’re reckoning is at hand. If you value your life, you will start running now because if the Warrior of Light reaches you, she will show no quarter,” he said triumphantly, bluffing as best he could with borrowed courage for he knew not whether she would even be in the vanguard.

Internally he was conflicted, he didn’t need more lives on his conscious but what could he do to dissuade them. He’d rather live with hope than die in despair.

\---

Venice felt like she had had the worst of hangovers as she came out of the second Echo, crawling on hands and knees, dazed, confused, physically and mentally bruised. Never had she received a second one so soon after the last. Her arms failed her as she moved back into a sitting position, all of his injuries left upon her like fictional fingerprints, the trauma leaving him far worse for wear.

“Aymeric?” she asked, the headache beginning to fade.

“Hm?” he barely recognised where he was.

She wanted to ask how he was feeling but the answer was readily obvious, the memory was one he had no desire to relive. _Thanks Hydaelyn_. Instinctively, she grabbed his hand and ran her fingers over the delicate bones, the chirugeons’ miraculous healing methods as impressive as ever, small comfort given the lasting impact torture had on one’s psyche.

“For all I know, some other helpless victim was put to the torch the day,” he returned to where he had left off. “An elaborate lie, no doubt, one of many tricks used to terrify me into submission.”

“It didn’t work.”

“Nay,” his focus came back, a slight smile as he realised she hadn’t left his side.

“Nothing slows you down, does it? They hadn’t even removed the stitches and you were already fighting at my side in the Vault, we kicked so much arse that day,” she reminded him, a hand resting against his lap. Hardly a consolation for his previous experience, but she would not watch as he slipped out of reach.

“Thordan was always enigmatic, even to those closest to him. His followers misconstrued indifference for wisdom, many saints and martyrs are misunderstood in their own lifetimes. You only saw his downfall, to the people he was good and just, they did not look at his indiscretions as belonging to him. I suppose we grew used to believing in lies until the evidence was staring us in the face, some still deny what has happened..”

“Why didn’t he try to take you out earlier, weren’t you a threat?”

“I have spent 32 summers trying to answer that question,” a weighty sigh, his expression twisted and unreadable. “There are many possible explanations. Either he wanted to keep his enemies close or arrogantly assumed he was indomitable. Not until I rose in the ranks did he have to concern himself directly and I made no overt efforts to intervene in his affairs. I like to imagine he was trying to make up for past mistakes, seeing me as a second chance of sorts. Or maybe he just had a part in his grand scheme that I could not discern.

Regardless, he underestimated us both. Though I am the one that must deal with his transgressions.”

She strongly disagreed with that but saw no way to convince him otherwise, “How many times has your faith in others gotten you into trouble.”

“Quite often but I refuse to see the worst the world has to offer.”

She moved to hug him then, he thanked her with a light kiss to the cheek.

“We’ve been here for awhile now but you’ve not made a confession. Not once have you admitted to doing any wrong or asked for my opinion,” she said after a long lull set in. They had to be close, the topic of his relationship with his father had opened many doors.

“‘Twas not mere sadness that caught me unawares today. There is a dark place..”

“I’m familiar with it,” she cut him off briskly, arms still wrapped around his shoulders, trying to keep her own emotions in check as he outpoured his own.

The stories she could tell of her time in Garlemald as a runaway, the number of lives she failed to talk down from giving up. So many artists that couldn’t cope with the lack of support, casualties of a silent, cultural war. Her own thoughts about her existence, what was she good for. Couldn’t reopen the old wounds.

“It’d be so easy, wouldn’t it?” the edge in his voice, the resignation that she had heard in his last confrontation with Thordan. She couldn’t tell if it was a plea or a hypothetical question, certainly it was one she had asked herself numerous times.

“You’ve never done anything because it was easy!” she yelled almost right into his ear, squeezing tight as she buried her face against his neck.

“The double-edged sword,” his tone flat, an arm coming up to hold her in place. “How many lives have my decisions, has my very existence, brought to complete ruin? My successes may outnumber my failures but look at the prices that have been paid, what more will I destroy before it's over?” he began to count off names on his fingers, a glimpse of the guarded, self-induced purgatory kept within, “Thordan, Haurchefant, Estinien, Ysayle, my mother..”

“Stop! First of all, Estinien forgave you. Second of all where the hells does it end, you barely knew Ysayle. This is utter nonsense,” she pushed the fringe out of his eyes and held his cheeks in her hands, thumbs against the temples, staring hard into eyes receding away into impenetrable oblivion, “You can’t stop men and women from dying for what they believe in.”

He was shocked to hear his own words used against him, blinking several times as if coming out of a deep slumber.

“Has _anything_ gone right in your life?” she asked in quiet desperation.

“Your return from Silvertear,” he nearly smiled then, rubbing her back, needing her as close as physically possible. “You were a blossom pushing up through the snow, a herald of regrowth, the first taste of spring since the Calamity.”

“I lost the Blessing of Light after that encounter. Temporarily, but still, my power was considerably muted.”

“I gained a friend. A very important friend, whose power was irrelevant. Though I made a habit of relying on your assistance, not once did I long for an obedient servant.

If you had not been successful, Ishgard’s future would never been assured. The archbishop would have found other means to keep me under heel, or worse. Without you, I might have been inclined to do what desperate men are prone to do when they’ve had enough. I should hope I’d not reach that point, but if today has proven anything, it is that I am not infallible, my strength comes from others.

My infatuations for you began early on, but I could not rob Haurchefant of the jewel that he was reaching to polish with such a madenning glint in his eye. I thought at the time I was doing a service, loving him from a distance while truly my heart was locked onto you. How insane that must sound now.

I do not need any more power, Venice. If anything, I should want less responsibility. My role is a lonely one, I seek something subtle: a friend, a companion, a partner, a.. lover perhaps, but definitely someone I can call an equal.

The pinnacle is small but there is room for one more, should you be willing to sit by my side. Your freedom to choose is what I admire most about you. The offer will remain whether you accept it now or never.”

His cry for help had become entangled in a proclamation of his affections. She shook her head, maybe they were one and the same. The simplest solutions were often the most elegant. Why had she ever thought it so difficult?

_I fancy that it echoes in some small measure the way you must feel when your improbable feats of heroism are rewarded with still more impossible challenges..._

She smiled at the recollection, how he had greeted her so casually that day and unbidden himself. He needed her and, she was coming to realise, she needed him. The barrier surrounding him was cracked in many parts like an eggshell ready to hatch, soon. With slow circles, she massaged his ears, watching as the light returned to his eyes.

“What made Thordan that way, why was he so empty?” he asked rhetorically.

“I don’t know, maybe some people are born without a soul of their own.”

“Was it the pressure, the responsibility too much to bear. Did something snap and break inside him? Is that what I will become?”

“I have fought genuine evil very few times, I can assure you regardless of your feelings to the contrary, that Thordan fit the bill. Even Gaius van Baelsar was less menacing. Though he had misplaced honour, he was interested in more than mere control. The Eyes were all Thordan cared about, torturing Haldrath to the very end after a thousand years of confinement, what might he have done if you were there?

The Eyes are not in themselves a source of evil, the compulsion to claim and use them is. They were a tool to be wielded like everything else that gained his attention. The lust for power, what would he have done once successful, with a world of mindless drones at his beck and call, who would he hurt then? Surely godhood would have been his undoing. Perfection is not a blessing, it is the end of all things.”

She paused, stretching somewhat then resumed her posture in his lap, wondering if everything was getting through. He was hanging onto every word, craving the answers.

“Trust me, I was there, I saw a man who had no love in his heart. Not for you, not for Ishgard, not for the Fury. Nobody. But therein lies the rub, doesn’t it?”

“Not knowing if I could have done it is driving _me_ mad.”

He had deliberated at great length about the execution order but needn’t have gone through the anguish, she would have gone after the delusional maniac with or without sanction. It was one of the few exceptions where she was content to carry out condoned murder. But Aymeric was ravaged by the guilt, he had not been there for his death. He should have been the one to put Thordan to the sword, not her, and so to absolve himself, he tried to fulfill the second chance the archbishop was not owed.

On the battlefield, the heat could not sap his enthusiasm, he was so alive when fighting alongside his men. But back in Ishgard, to the cold and the heartless, he had returned where he had left off, backed into place, consumed by bureaucratic bullshit and everything that had created him.

Of course it had ended that way, all hard choices were decided by the Fury in a trial of combat, one could not be hampered by the outcome favoured by the goddess.

“You would have, if not for your own reasons than for Ishgard,” she assured him. “I mean, you shot at Estinien and he is someone you actually like.”

_If looks could kill.. fair enough, it wasn’t remotely funny anyway._

“Unlike your father, well you couldn’t be more unlike him, but moreover you’ve learned to lift others up to your level rather than be torn down. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, you find help during those times instead of relying on yourself absolute. Just because it's easy for them to draw the unfair comparison doesn’t mean you have to. Find who you are agnostic to your past.”

Her voice turned prophetic then as she held his shoulders, “He was the end, you are the beginning.

They made their choices, all of them, even Haurchefant, and you’ve made yours. If he was afraid to confront the realities, then you should not be. I’ve seen you time and again recognise your mistakes and decide to do better next time, moving ever on to the next stone. You don’t stop to take notice of where you’ve been, your eyes are always on the future. But maybe you should take a gander at the present, it’s not as grim as you might expect.

You have to stop pushing so far ahead, we can’t keep up and how will you face multiple struggles from all sides alone? You are not his antithesis, his repentance, you are _you_. You are already wonderful enough, and really, while you’re out there trying to create that other, loveable world..I have already found one, he’s sitting right here in front of me.

You are the lord commander of Her Knights Most Heavenly, first and foremost, but also many other things: the lord speaker of the House of Lords, the viscount of House Borel, the acting Azure Dragoon, envoy to the Eorzean Alliance, patron of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and fuck, probably a litany of other ridiculously long titles.

But to me, to _me_ , you are simply Aymeric.

My friend, my spear, my liege..”

He stirred dramatically back to life, a stone giant whose spell had been lifted, flesh returning to a body who had forgotten how to move. The morning haze lasted only a moment as he took in what had awoken him, already in his lap but he needed more, closer, to be inside. She was folded over him like one’s beloved blanket during a terrifying storm, covering every ilm, tucked tightly around and absorbed.

A lunge for her exposed neck, like a mighty myolodon leaping desperately for an evening meal after a day of sombering misses, a deadly hug of fur, claws, and fangs latching on to protect the meat from any other would be challengers. A growl, a moan at the first taste of succulent skin. The initial flurry subsided, he tenderised her as one sucking out the juice of an exotic fruit, a persimmon perhaps as he pushed away any troublesome seeds, delicate and generous. 

The excitement infectious, she had been dragged into a riptide of groping appetites and withheld yearnings, the metaphors coming in and out as an engorged mass of ecstasies, she held on with taut fingers lusting to pluck at his enticing ears. Like soaked chestnuts in a decades-aged brandy, each poured into her watering maw, given a thorough savouring and suckling amidst the pliable folds. Tongue, lips, fingers all working in concert as she drowned his capacity to hear her own fluttering breaths.

Whilst she satiated her hunger, he fumbled for the buckles of armour that would release the garnered prize. Her writhings threatened to unsteady his efforts but a knight was familiar with the iconic gear for which they were famous. He could have undressed her in his sleep without so much as a thought about the details. The more she moved, the faster the pieces fell to the wayside, his deliberate pawings subsided only long enough to lift the veil of the heavy hauberk over her shoulders and head.

In spite of her fire and brimstone clamourings, he entreated the novice squire with care, ensuring she was handled like a young rose loosening its petals. The mood within the Intercessory was not unlike the unification of warring factions after centuries of unrest cobbling together in a revelling orgy of mutual prosperity and unfettered excess. No longer competing for dominance, but merging together, joining symbiotically into a new creation.

Though trapped in a pit of self-doubt and loathing, he knew where to go, drawn to where he was needed most by an invisible hand. Never dwelling unless biding time for an impactful, penetrative strike, wasting no position or exertion. Warrior, diplomat, strategist, rebel with a cause. The breath of one who’s words had changed everything, coddling her neck like a gentle breeze, transporting her to a lone island in need of the ocean’s bounty.

She was become the Fury guiding him to the promise land, trusting him to take the blunted end of her spear and climb towards his own salvation, her shield coming round to block out the forces which would encumber the journey. Out of the abyss he rose, not with fear but with hunger, hope and courage, bowed but not undeterred.

Freshly cut brightlillies wafted from nowhere, he looked up with hair already a plastered mess from her heartfelt overtures, searching for something in her eyes, the shroud breached but not loosened enough to give her all that he could.

A firm kiss to the forehead, rubbing the bottom half of one ear gingerly while the other searched down to loosen the straps protecting the dress tunic beneath. So many layers, one at a time she would set him free. But he didn’t mind assisting, especially given she didn’t know where to go, placing her fingers on the sides to unclamp the chestguard.

His efforts had been a feint to keep her preoccupied while he pursued more unraveled delights. Hands reaching around to hold her under the leather skirt, left exposed in the hauberk’s wake, strong fingers grappling for a teetering bottom. Determined to maintain some semblance of balance, they rocked in place slightly as he held them aloft on one arm.

The cloak surrounding them seemed like a petrified tide ready to break, the heat was rising exponentially, and the hard floor had served the extent of its use.

“Maybe we should move to a better spot,” she pulled back, examining the exposed jerkin beneath the cuirass, pushing the hard pieces away with her foot.

The jerkin fell off quickly enough, leaving the sash to look as dignified as ever against the sea of blue. A sleeveless tunic, tight scaled greaves, and the platemail sabatons all that remained. His lips were wet from prolonged kisses, he watched her silently as his fingers slipped beneath the rim of her battleskirt. One pull and the lacings were undone, her own tunic would soon meet the same. 

Hot messages against the nape of her neck, a breathless caress, the desolate ground aching for rainfall. More of the light shone through the abyss but still he had not left its clutches, threatening to pull her inside where he lay. More than willing was she to punch through, running her hands under the sash across his chest, broad strokes down the torso. Their breathing heightened to alarming rates, hearts begging for less of the physical, spiritually thirsty for magic.

Her legs were not so keen on remaining where they were, however, and neither were his, numb as they had likely gone. She used his shoulders to help her to her feet, a grunt of approval. Before extending her hand to help him, she pushed off the trousers down her sides, revealing a pair of black boyshorts beneath, standard fare to cope with pinching armour but also one of her favourites for lounging around.

To savour that intake of breath as he came to embrace her upright, the first grab of her thighs as she slid a hand down his front, they realised the point of no return was not far behind.  

Pausing to gauge each other’s resolution, words unspilled. She touched his cheek, a heavy breath as his hand wandered up her back. The cracks grew, the stone ground into sand as the sea splattered against the heights, sending chunks of distress away from the source.

“Venice,” he said gently, as if it might cause grievous ruin to say the wrong thing. Instead, he draped the sash over her shoulder, took a hand and bent the knee whilst his lips remained an ilm from her shivering skin. “I have said much tonight that no one else has heard, to reveal more would be to leave nothing else to myself. But maybe that is for the best, you have astutely pointed out that I am lost. Will you continue to help me find the way back to this world?”

“You’ve not left it, Aymeric, you just can’t see with your eyes clouded,” she rested one hand on his shoulder, “I am a healer, it would be a privilege to do what I do best.”

He kissed her hand then rose up to engulf her against his chest for a short spell. Afterwards, she bent down to scoop up the cloak and wandered over to the low war table, casting it out, soft side up, like silk in need of drying. The sound of armour gathered, he set the pieces down neatly beside the highback chair, eyeing it carefully as he kept the memories in check. She unhooked the sash and laid it delicately over the chair’s arm, ignoring how her own clothes were scattered without rhyme or reason, taking the chance to pull off her tunic as she went.

“If this becomes more than you want, you need only say so and we will stop. You’re in charge here, Venice.”

“I’ve wanted to be this close for a long while.”

“Truly? How long?”

She leaned against the table, his arms on either side of her, forehead to forehead as she continued to speak.

“Ever since I returned to Ishgard with Ysayle and Estinien. When I told you about Hraesvelgr’s Echo, the truth. They were both shattered and broken when they heard it, but not you. I saw so many emotions go through you all at once. You finally had the ammunition you needed to confront the archbishop. Where others saw finality, you saw hope.

You knew that the final chapter of the story had not yet been written. That’s when I saw the actual you, not just the man who wanted to save Ishgard.

Based on your reaction, I knew you were a good man trying do the right thing. I had always known it deep down but for a split second, I saw something more. No defences, no armour. A lowborn rising to the highest station in the land so that he could bring about lasting change, peace, equality, freedom. An actual, honest politician. So stirred by emotion that he could not resist doing what had to be done, even if that meant putting his life on the line.”

His eyes bore into hers, a mixture of sultry and complex emotions. She had him right where he needed to be, where she could do the most good. The rest of the world fell away.

“You made a tough call that day, your intentions were pure, your reasoning was sound. Love motivated you to act. Just as it had led Ysayle to make poor choices. The genesis of Estinien’s rage was not dissimilar. It’s what drove Haurchefant to fight by my side when he didn’t need to. But it is also why Alphinaud didn’t abandon Estinien, so on and so forth.

At the time, I was slightly offended that you did not trust me enough to go with you...”

“I trust you now,” blatant honesty matched by a kiss held upon her cheek, his hands cupping the backs of her ears. Dark hair touched her violet, every breath they took was felt by the other, their bodies syncing to a universe of their own.

“Everyone else bemoaned your ill-fated plan, if it could be called such, even Lucia was unconvinced,” she dropped to a whisper, hands meandering along his waistline. “I would have done the same as you if our roles had been reversed. With the benefit of hindsight, you may see that decision as your greatest failure but for me, that’s when you made a believer out of me, that is when I fell in love with Ishgard.

Despite many a heavy setback, everything ultimately worked out for the best, did it not? The strength of the bond between us has grown evermore, as has my admiration of the person you’ve become. I have not intended to leave your side since that day. When my other duties are fulfilled, there is no other place I would rather be than right here.”

A hand placed against his heart, her words pleading, “You have always had so much love within you, isn’t it time someone loved you back?”

He looked at her in bewilderment, trying to find the words to describe his elation. For most of the night he had spoken of himself, overwhelmed by relaying one trauma of his past after another. But he had not broken down during the journey, the destination was equally unknown. Together they would try a new path, there was nothing to fear.

His hands rested back on the table top, on either side of her legs then, words nowhere to be found. Eyes closed, he let the emotions settle back to an agreeable state before shedding the blue tunic, folding it carefully and setting it aside to return back where he had started. Venice was patient, ever patient.

She knelt over to kiss the gathering tide at the corners of his eyes, as light as a butterfly lands upon an opening flower. Smooth caresses against the back of the head, forehead resting against his as they found the same pattern of breath to take in. And out.

He reached to grasp the curve of her waist, she moved his hand up a bit higher between the breasts, indicating what she wanted. When she pulled back to take in the view, she was prepared for the scar down the middle, but she was close enough to take stock of his other marks. Close calls from encounters with the Horde, traces of magic burnt into his skin, as many physical wounds as spiritual.

Plenty of people adored him, maybe romantically as she did. They saw a brother-in-arms, a leader, a swordsman, a peace keeper, a man of honeyed words and gentle demeanour, if they only knew what lay beneath the glitz and glamour. He was not unloved but he was unable to be a man of his own volition. She would not be content with an imposter.

“Your beauty would make the Fury jealous,” he whispered, kissing her on the shoulder, underneath the strap of her sporty bra, stretchy Garlean fibre strange to him. She took no chances when she was training, better to keep the girls close than not.

“Just what I need, to piss off another deity,” she laughed softly.

“May I?” he said, finger running along the bottom edge of the thin fabric. Curiosity was back in his eyes, she adored that expression above any other.

“But of course,” she beckoned, holding her arms up to ease the unhooking.

 _Hope he’s not going to ask permission to touch every part of me_ , she mused.

The kisses hovered and rested down her sternum, until he decided which side was more worthy of his devotion. He took his time, lightly tracing a route around the circumference’s edge, the other hand palming an equally enticing fruit, her breasts a pair of enlarged figs enjoyed best with the skin evenly saturated.

One hand kneaded out ball of dough into malleable form, the basis of a stable pie crust, pressing the edges in firm, doubling back with pinching fingers to make sure the seal was permeable but tight. All the while rolling against the poking nip while its pair received a smattering of sticky spices, soft tugs matched with teasing flicks, suckling down to see how much could be savoured at once.

She breathed in slow, long soundless exhales, dropping and withdrawing her opulent flesh from his outstretched grasp. The attentive details progressed without hesitation, each globule given its proper due. Fingers angling for his hair but finding it easier to rest against the tops of his shoulders as he moved fondly to the other side.

His aura began to shift then, she knew naught how she could tell. The uncertainties, the indecisiveness, the neverending negations had been cast aside with the rest of his clothes. Rather than encourage, she let him find his own course, adjusting to accommodate his desires, the pleasure mounting with his whimpers.

While he pursued his latent fantasies in real time, her mind wandered free of inhibitions. Hands down his back, back to the uncoupled trousers, down his hips to test the sturdiness. Too difficult for her to get off on her own. His mouth still full, hands joining hers along the tops of his legs.

She rubbed circles along his thighs, palms on the outside, fingertips inner, promises she intended to keep. Sideways he turned to nestle against her bosoms as she had against his chest many times that evening, listening to her breath, heart chanting a sweet melody against his ear.

Momentarily content, she found her voice again.

“Like Estinien, you don’t know how to do anything other than fight. How can you be a champion for peace if you do not know it yourself? How can you give love if you do not allow yourself to receive it?

In the past, hiding your emotions kept you safe because there was nobody else to turn to. Now you’re worried about who you aren’t, who you might be. But I already saw the actual you and he is beautiful, worthy, so loveable. You were as naked then as you are about to be now.”

Her fingers glided slowly down the raised scar bisecting his navel, she bent over to press her mouth against the horrendous wound, continuing her assertions without tearing herself away from her gentle task, dispensing plantings with her tongue and lips between her words, seedlings sown into the rich, damp soil.

“You saw the opportunity to validate your existence, you were poised, ready to take your enemy’s king off the board to put him where you wanted him, for the betterment of Ishgard, but you were never fighting yourself. You were never living for yourself. The culmination of everything you sought to achieve hinged on that singular moment in time while the world watched on to see what would remain when your move was done.

I watched and I fought as one of your pawns, willingly, to free you. Or maybe as another piece, I don’t know this game as well as you. And I’d do it again, knowing the aftermath, what we would lose afterwards. So would you, so would you.

I saw you that day, your soul, your essence, not the man trying to be somebody else, not a lowborn or a knight or a pawn of anybody’s. You would not be denied, not any more. And you were free as the dragons in the skies above, as free as I am to cling to whatever cause I hold most dear.

Right now, I am clinging to you, so don’t you fucking drop me by retreating within, denying me the right to fully see the man I love above all others. The time for deception is past, isn’t that what you said?”

“Above all others?” he gasped, her fingers found what they were after.

She was the bringer of light to his world of darkness, it remained to be seen if she would create a new void or return the balance of life. Only together would victory be achieved, he did what little he could by removing the greaves and the pair of blue gold briefs underneath, careful to not cause her lips to leave him in the process.

The time for words was over, she took him in her mouth then, not settling for the flushed tip alone, a moan let loose as she sought more, a canal guiding a gondolier towards his destination.

“Violet,” he murmured as his head leaned back, fingers stroking her hair affectionately, holding back the strands from getting in the way.

 _A perfect gentleman_ , she laughed with impassioned glee, seeking the satisfaction against her throat. The table was not the optimal height so she planted her feet firm on the frozen floor, holding his length in one hand, the other palm out against the garden she had left behind.

He had not been fibbing about the girth. An acceptable challenge, she had not come to play or to work, but to enrich. While she was enthralled with taming the mighty steed, a lover’s knot had been deftly crafted to rest against her shoulder, freeing his hands for other exultations. Careening fingers drifted down the current of her sides, palms brushing her skin as a tide pulling at loose sand, warm splashes of aether pluming upwards.

She doubled down around him, imparting her energy into a growing shoot, sun scorching the layers to harden the outermost bark, the only sound of an open coconut, having had its soft gooey morsel slurped from within. The last stitch of clothing hung around her rear as a hammock, the final obstacle begged to be torn down, but she would not give up her hands to the cause. If he wanted them off, he’d have to do it himself.

A groan as she tested how much she was willing to swallow, one hand pressed firm against her inner grooves, bracing himself as the vibrations shuddered to a swelling storm. So busy was her mouth that her hands had naught to do but to split up, massaging a rigid trunk, not to leave out the pair of oarsmen about to tumble away from safety.

Within his singular grasp, titillating fabric gathered and bunched tight, pulling against her sensitivity. The idea that they stayed on just as exciting, the lack of foresight encouraging her yearnings for plunder. They were at a crossroads, neither could quite fulfill their respective wants without mutual cooperation. She stood up, still holding him between both hands, a revolving grotto offering both respite and further trepidations.

Panties slid down her legs, bending to assist as they passed her knees, and there they stood before each other: nothing left to hide, nowhere else to be.

“I’m in charge, Blue,” she asserted. He took the hint, leaning down to embrace her shoulders.

‘Twas not so much a parting of the ways as a changing of the guard. She nodded towards the table and he took his place, the curl of his lip caused her to rock on her feet. There was nothing in his features but lust, a desire for physical accentuation, cares and considerations left for another time. And she was no different.

She took one last glance at his magnificence, a body perfectly carved from a pillar of ice, breathed into life by the Fury. An illusion clad in another layer of isolation for others to hang their hopes on. The muscles were alluring, fanning out into proportions befitting of a warrior, she wanted to touch them all, to work out the invisible pain with pleasure that would make even Sri Lakshmi writhe in rapturous bliss.

He leaned back on his hands, assessing her body in similar degrees, not knowing what she had in mind. She crawled over to him, to kiss his neck with large swathes of a tongue in desperate need for taste, appreciating the extra amount of skin offered by the graceful Elezen physique. A hand cradling the back of his neck, the other propping her as she knelt across his lap. His own arms wrapped around to steady the approach, a playful kneading against her bottom while she found the delicate angle. Hardly the easiest of positions but neither of them cared so much as flesh was whispering against flesh.

The cloak against the table became a welcome buffer as they maneuvered. Fully braced, she sat up straight to take in his expression, eyes and lips coated with anticipation. His interest lay strictly with keeping her upon him, though that did not stop a wistful breath as he gazed at her breasts, brushing on occasion against his scratchier chest. The temptation went out of mind as she coaxed a drought-stricken pillar towards an encompassing ocean, a cut off island momentarily submerged, drowned of its weight, lifted again to the surface.

Heavy breaths, a jostling of chests, the ecstasy of being fully immersed in one’s beloved; together touching another plane for the first time. An arm around his shoulder as she pulled up at the precise departure then down again without a gap of stress accumulated, assailing the land with tantalising showers, threatening to devour him before the cleanse commenced. The waves growing ever higher with each thrust, all applied by the strength drawn in her own arms, hips held but not lifted by his power.

It was not Venice’s goal to see herself nurtured, to that end she pushed aside his attempts to take over. She kept him in the dark, needing to establish his complete trust as she took in more and more with each movement, eventually leaning back in his sweaty arms, allowing him to witness the efforts of her labours. He immediately planted his lips around the nearest bouncer, one arm sliding against her spine as he fulfilled his appetites.

They allowed the waves to carry them along for awhile, until he was too breathless to remain stationary. She loved how the sweat had caused his hair to curl even more. Plump lips clamped down on one ear and whispered, “Hold on tight.”

He moaned loudly as she wiggled around, a full 8 ilms hidden in her warm depths without release. She shifted her arms around his back, hard pressings against the shoulder blades to ensure they were well-placed. Carefully as one sets a precious painting into an ornamental frame, one arm laid tersely upon his upper back, fingers dug in tight. Pushing with the might of her thighs, balanced upon her other arm, she eased him down to the soft wool.

They both needed time to adjust but neither wanted to stop. Laying flat atop him, she continued where she had left off, his arms and lip no longer willing to wait. Long soaking kisses, the sounds of giving in vitally exchanged, a tug of war that could not be won. Eventually she pushed up onto her elbows, assuming the previous position, watching him as she rode her way to a new, better world, tearing away his hurts, flooding him with renewed purpose.

Beneath her, he did not seem so fragile, he was as robust and full of life as ever she had seen, the previous revelations granting him respite from his own shackles. Untethered, they found a suitable rhythm to harness their lustful cravings. Nonetheless, she set the pace as he held her hips, fingers drawing together the gradually apart. Forward and back, the pendulum marking the bells as the world continued its neverending orbit around the Mother Crystal.

Forward and back. And sometimes, side to side to gauge his fortitude, to tempt and misdirect his responding thrusts. Their bodies were new to each other, they had to learn, to know where they could go. A dance to the tune of the busy honeybee, half-circles slow, sighing motions like a warm gull, barely rustling the leaves but prickling the aching skin, pushing feathery strands out of the resplendent view. Could barely he keep his eyes open but that did not stop him from connecting with hers whenever possible.

She was a lone adventurer, eager to explore a foreign land, he was the world which she was bestowed, a shard away from all others, hers alone to nurture and protect. The gentle ocean come to greet an island in need, crashing waves, receding tides, deliverer of nutrients and wayward tidings, rescinding all that had kept him barren. The tall beach grasses bent and swayed, the summer breeze careening onwards between two emerging mounds of fertile hills and sheltering promises.

Slowly they pushed on, his arms grabbing onto hers as she plunged towards the open, uncharted waters. She shook hard, the tides reaching their highest point, his pinnacle thoroughly wetted, having reached the limits of its sustain, the island a haven of life once more, the sides churning as the waters took their eventual toll.

“I fucking love you,” he whined, the words certainly enough to tip her scales.

Resolute elbow braced firm against the tabletop, fingers bolstering hers unbent. She took in several shallow breaths but could not prevent the final swell, in a tempest of blue eyes she saw her own sweltering green.

\---

He saw in her a piece of herself that she had forgotten.

Alone she sat by a pile of stones that was meant to be a campfire, winds howling, snow piling around her, memories of her bandmates and their deaths playing over and over her in head. Frostbite was turning her fingers blue, she shivered and waited for the end to come. She had failed, ran away when it became too much, recognition eluding her as it did every starving artist. Who would know she had ever existed?

Something heavy draped over her shoulders, she looked up to find a beautiful man appearing out of nowhere, his cloak bequeathed to her quivering body. He said nothing, moving to kneel down to her level, covering her frozen hands in his own.

“Who are you? You’ve the look of a dignified king,” she said to the stranger.

“I am no one of consequence, just one of many whom you will save some day,” he said softly.

“I can’t save myself let alone anyone else,” she tried to close her eyes but his were boring into hers, blue and full, like a man worshipping his chosen goddess. Generosity without bounds, love without recourse.

“Venice, your capacity to love will save our dying world, you must believe in yourself. This is not where your story ends, it is the beginning.”

“I tried, they don’t want to be free.”

“They’re scared, we all are. Show them through your actions what it means,” he kissed her hands, the blue skin turning pink and warm as he did so, “We’ll do it together, one cannot appreciate freedom alone.”

Her eyes met those same ones back in the mortal realm, a gasp for air as she came to, the ocean pushing her to the surface. His arms uplifting her, keeping her from drowning in her own pool of grief. His soul drifted on the cosmic current, her fingers reaching for solidarity.

The Inquisition chamber was more dark and suffocating than she had seen in his earlier, unbidden memories.

Aymeric was tucked up against a wall, surrounded by many bodies with their heads covered in helmets, presumably killed by his own hand. Stress beyond what any being could endure, he watched on as a slow fire flicked its way towards him, consuming the remnants of his mistakes, red hot fingers arcing for indiscriminate destruction.

Amongst the dead were various weapons or garments, she recognised a few.

Zephirin’s claymore, Thordan’s staff, Haurchefant’s shield, Ysayle’s crystal.

The lone knight was not afraid of death, on the contrary he welcomed it, slumped and defeated. She extended her hand down to him, he shifted his gaze from the fire to her radiant form, “Halone?”

“You don’t have to stay here, my love, this is not how it played out, remember?”

“What’s the point, I am of no use to them,” he shook his head.

“But you are of use to me, if indeed you need to be of use to anybody,” she smiled, kneeling down to kiss his cheek. “How can their lives matter if no one is left to set them free?”

“What of me, am I to be the catalyst for more of the same?”

“That is your choice. My choice is to remain by your side through all of it. Will you have me?”

He clasped her hand and rose to his feet, just as the flames washed harmlessly over their untouched forms, the darkness espoused by the light of the stars.

\---

When she came out of his mind, he was almost asleep on his back, resting serenely against still waters.

She joined him on her side, naked bodies surrounded in their inner heat, the fireplace having gone out while untended. Plumes of ice crystals came out with every long, satisfied breath. Other than his arm at her back, sitting against her shivering hips, there was naught to feel but the purity of ascension.

Lazily she traced her finger through his boundless, creamy skin, along the marks left from many battles.

“This one doesn’t look like the remnants of dragon fire,” she frowned, a scorched grazing across his side under the left arm. He flinched slightly, having dozed off for a second then relaxed at her light caresses.

“‘Tis a compliment from the Heavens’ Ward,” he explained.

“Wish I could resurrect those sick fucks and kill them all over again,” she poured over him to examine the rest of his old wounds.

“Don’t let your anger taint this hallowed ground,” he kissed her forehead, encouraging her to lay back down on top of him. She did as he asked but was none to happy about the many traumas that he had suffered.

They must have both fallen asleep for a short while after that. When they woke up, both were snuggling into each other for warmth, the cloak pulled loosely around their lower halves.

“So this is what peace feels like, it would seem I’ve been looking in the wrong places all along,” Aymeric said softly, still holding her to his chest. “If this is to become the summit of the peak which we’ve been climbing all this time, then consider me fully in awe.”

“Do you think a single taste is enough for me to get my fill?” she teased.

“Nay, but if it for some reason this was to be a unique occasion, then it is a wonderful memory that would pull me through any negative depths that I might stumble into in the future. We went through all the motions of peace without ever stopping to consider our own needs. I will hang onto this forever.”

“It need not be our last, an ending to mark a new beginning.”

“I know you worry about your past, which is why you have not spoken aloud what you just showed with your glorious body. Let me handle you, Venice. There are no strings or obligations, Fury knows we both have too many to count. Let go, I won’t become another casualty in your list. Let me inside as I have let you in.”

“I believe you just did that. But I take your point. I could try harder to relinquish control, I just thought maybe you’d be the one to struggle in that regard.”

“We are very much alike in many respects, we’ll both have to try hard to shed our defences. Whatever the rest of the world throws our way, we will have each other. As friends, definitely. Maybe more when it suits us.”

“Pleasant as all this is, we could have chosen a less uncomfortable location to lay down” Venice said suddenly, stretching her joints, toes reaching for the solid ground again.

“I concur,” Aymeric said, relieved that she had come to the same conclusion. “I’m not sure if you’d be open to the idea but there is a place we could retire to: Haurchefant’s old room. My people are superstitious about a lot of things, tampering with a loved one’s effects after their passing is heavily avoided whenever possible. But I don’t think he’d mind and would rather like the room to be used than wasted.”

“Anything is better than here,” she surmised, looking around for her clothes.

\---

Outside, the weather was calm if a bit foggy, only the Aetheryte’s calming glow lit up the parade grounds. The crisp temperature didn’t matter to a pair of interconnected souls who had just bore all to each other, the heat in their bodies more than the snow could handle.

Their joy was limitless as they ran out like a pair of kids free of any schedule, he ahead of her to show the route, snow lazily dropping around like a curtain of fairy dust. The world was theirs alone, the men on the walls guarding the braziers may as well have been invisible. Venice knew where to go from the Echo but let Aymeric have his moment, chasing after him without noting where she stepped, trying unsuccessfully to create snowballs from the ramparts’ railings.

“Gods fucking damn it,” she exclaimed as she slipped on a patch of black ice, falling hard enough to elicit his panicked redoublement.

“Are you hurt, my love?” he bent down to assist, his bare arms shivering despite his tunic’s padded weight.

“Think I broke something,” she groaned, rubbing absently at her legs.

“Only your pride, I reckon,” he hefted her up to his shoulder, paused, then came up with an alternative solution. With immense strength, he scooped her up under the legs, holding her shivering form close to his chest, then deftly danced across the icy surface lining the short bridge.

They laughed off her blunder, their excitement unbridling any sense of pain or worry. At the Aetheryte he stopped, letting her down so he could catch his breath again. There he leaned into the lightsource against its base, his arms folded, shaking to keep the cold from dampening his mood. She pushed in between his legs and rubbed his nose with her own.

“You’ve seen me at my worst and yet you’re still here,” he said quietly, seriousness and disbelief in his mannerisms. Pensive stoicism back where it had always been.

“We are more than our worst,” she assured him, hands on his legs as she tried to discern what he wanted to hear. “No singular deed or action defines us. We are a bundle of mistakes and irregularities here to make sense of the world and ourselves. I’m here for you, our destinies are inexplicably bound so.. we may as well like each other, right?”

He reached out to touch her cheek, satisfied as a king after a successful, bloodless conquest, peace ruling the land as it should.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her forehead, the silence of the Aetheryte the only witness.

“I know,” she grinned. “You’re going to catch a cold if we stay out.”

“Aye, this way!” he unfolded his arms, laughing boisterously as he beckoned her to resume their play in the snow, ignoring the expedient path in favour of a game of tag.

No sound made Venice happier than that of Aymeric’s carefree laugh, everything was right with the world.


	3. Chapter 3

For the most part, the room was untouched, just as Haurchefant had left it. She could smell him as if he were still there, see his fingerprints left everywhere, little pieces of his personality stuck in time.

Plastered across the walls was a collection of classical-style artworks, tasteful nudes of men and women, warriors showing off their powerful physiques, the naughty bits cleverly concealed by arms or armour. The bed was neatly made, the only furniture to see recent use, blankets and pillows maintained with care. A lounge by the fireplace was coated in dust, tattered on the arms as if heavily leaned on in the past.

The cleanliness of the washroom came as a surprise, she always assumed men were sloppier than women when it came to personal hygiene. Inside the tiny room, the fragrance of Nymeian lilies greeted her, a holdover from an empty vase by the taps. She was tempted to have a solitary soak but was politely informed that the heating mechanism no longer functioned.

When she emerged from the small sideroom, she found Aymeric by the fireplace, hunched over and sorting through the remaining logs for the appropriate allotment to start it alight.

“All the remains to make it a romantic evening is a bearskin rug,” he said wryly over his shoulder. The doom and gloom that had pervaded him earlier were replaced by boundless humour and infectious grins.

“I’m sure we’ll make do,” she smiled back.

Venice continued to wander around, dragging her fingers along every surface, wishing that an Echo might trigger. Her cheeks were wet with tears, not of sadness, but in the joy of being surrounded by Haurchefant’s latent presence. A tall wardrobe was full of his clothes, mostly tunics, she pondered trying one on but thought it might cause her partner some distress. Quietly she unfolded one and took in a hefty sniff: wild black currant still on the vine, a handful of cracked acorns, steaming rolanberry pie, steel freshly forged. For a moment, she expected him to walk up behind her, to whisper in her ear, to say it had all been a horrible dream.

Aymeric was there instead, enveloping her from behind, “Everything alright?”

“Aye, I’m so glad you’ve brought me here,” she wanted to smile but could not, instead she wiped at her face.

“Mayhaps we should rest for awhile, it has been.. an eventful evening, to say the least.”

“Soon,” she let him kiss her cheek. A couple of letters on the desktop had caught her eye.

The top one was preserved in a well-worn envelop, the creases on the page indicating it had been reread several times over the years. Emmanellain’s juvenile scrawlings outlined how terrible life was without Haurchefant to protect him from their bully of an older brother. Underneath was another letter with nearly the same complaints, written from Artoirel’s point of view followed up with a warning that should Haurchefant’s duties become too cumbersome, he was more than willing to take the illustrious post for himself.

Though she couldn’t see Haurchefant’s responses, she supposed he had held onto the letters to remind him of home, of simpler days when the worst thing in the world was interrupting Artoirel’s intellectual recitations. Venice smirked, she could certainly imagine the three of them shifting alliances against each other while competing for whatever boys were likely to fight over.

Other papers were notes and the like with the occasional doodle left in the margins, nothing important or from anyone she recognised. She began to frown, hoping maybe there was an unsent letter for her but no such luck. Her fingers ran along the Scion seal, maybe one from Minfilia before everything went to hell?

“Oh..” she was taken aback, “This one’s from Alphinaud. He has.. such a way with words..”

The letter was a “thank you” written right after Haurchefant had agreed to offer them asylum. Her heart skipped several beats, the language was so flowery and lovely, succinct and to the point. He could say things more eloquently than she could.

“Aye, that he does,” Aymeric agreed solemnly, setting down against the bed to tear down the sheets for the night.

“I..should have written one too,” she felt a pang of regret, fresh tears gathered as she continued to the end. ”Bless, he’s grown so much. After the banquet, he was in a bad place but..somehow he learned how to keep going, how to never give up against impossible odds.”

“A lesson we could all learn from,” he agreed, beckoning her to hang up her emotions for a time.

“I really miss him, Haurchefant I mean..” she lay her head against his chest and nestled in for a well-earned respite.

“Aye, but he wouldn’t want us to be miserable, right?” Aymeric said in a small voice, racked by sobs of his own, holding her close, light touches encouraging her to let go.

“Why don’t I give you that back massage you were owed?” she offered, his smile then made the whole night worthwhile.

They managed to drift off until the cold snapped them back to the present, the old fireplace in need of a proper sweeping to keep the flame consistent. The conversations in those twilight hours varied greatly but none were as grim as the thoughts left in the Intercessory along with their armour.

\---

“What was your first time like, it was with Estinien, wasn’t it?” Venice asked, placing pressure against Aymeric’s stiff deltoids with both palms, methodically working the knots out of his skin.

“You recall the tale about how we became friends? There was more to the story that I wasn’t prepared to speak of in front of our young Elezen friend,” he laughed softly into the pillow, melting hastily under her touch, “After the battle, Estinien tracked down the last remaining wyrm and finished it off, with some help.

He was exhausted afterwards, as was I but for seemingly different reasons. I had seen dead bodies before that point, numerous times, but not so many at once in such a small space. Even the dragons were broken in ways that no sentient being should experience. Estinien was haunted by other matters, things he didn’t wish to speak about with a stranger.

I suggested we make camp for the night and return to the Holy See in the morning with food and rest under our belts. We were far out in the wilderness, plenty of game to hunt. Though I suppose neither of us had much of an appetite given our frame of mind. Well, not _that_ kind of appetite, anyway.

While I sat there overwhelmed with the inevitably of death, thinking our lives pathetically short, he presented an enticing alternative.”

“Mhm,” Venice’s imagination was well-stoked as she continued running her hands along his backside, playfully squeezing, continuing to rub down the soft sides and tough legs, a steady approach slowly intensified with each stroke. A few murmurs of contentment, the occasional pulling back whenever she glanced a sensitive stretch, her fingers those of a sculptor putting in fine details with fresh clay, pressed firm into thirsty flesh.

He told his erotic story with such grace that she barely recognised he had skipped over the obvious terminology, drowning her in poetic language that had her panting for composure, every flourish of their bodies and the resulting emotional reconciliations played out vividly as an Echo. Her hands pushed harder to make up for her excitement, and though it was just words, he may as well have been back inside her until he reached its conclusion.

“I saw the rage in his eyes that night, an inferno consuming him from within. I wanted to smother it, to put it out. He was an absolute gentleman that first time, patient and calm. The rage temporarily vanquished. I think he wanted to do something good for once, to replace pain with pleasure.

There is a tenderness deep within that he never shows. A broken man trying to do the right thing. For Ishgard. For himself. When he turned into the Shade of Nidhogg, I thought the worst. You had more faith in him than I. How could I let him down like that?”

He was holding her on her side then, chest against her back, rubbing her legs as she had done for him.

“Truth be told, it was Alphinaud who believed he could be saved, not I. I went along with his desire to find an amicable solution because I wanted to believe.”

“You will have my eternal gratitude for everything you’ve done, but especially for that. I have made many mistakes, I have let you down too many times as well.”

“You’ve never let me down. Alphinaud can’t appreciate the complexity of your upbringing or the romantic bent to your relationship with Estinien, he can only react to what he sees before him. Fury help him when the hard choice is his to make. I worry for his blind idealism, a deficiency he readily absconds in others, but one might also call it faith. Belief is a fickle, different thing for each of us.

Here in Ishgard it is more overt, the church bringing some order to it all, it is something I am still trying to understand. The power used to summon primals, to save men from battles they fight within, to unite people together who can find no other reason to get along. To know that the dead did not waste their time granting us life. But we must also find a way to believe in ourselves, even when we do terrible, unforgivable things. Especially then.”

“Well said, Violet,” he loosened his grasp to roll over onto his back, throwing the sheets to feel the cool night on his hot skin.

“My first wasn’t nearly as enjoyable,” she said after her pulse had settled again, getting up to stretch, enjoying the liberation of being casually naked without judgement. She returned to his waiting embrace, laid her head upon his chest and took a moment to organise her thoughts while he ran his fingers lovingly through her hair.

“I looked up to the eldest member of our band a great deal. He was the strong, silent type, wrote most of the songs. I had just left home for the first time and didn’t really know much about anything so he took me under his wing. Well, maybe in hindsight it hadn’t been a conscious decision on his part, I more adopted him than the other way around.

I thought he was the most perfect man who ever lived, confusing my adolescent lust for love. He used to warn me that I shouldn’t get too close, that I wouldn’t like what I found if I dug too deep. But that made me want him even more, you can’t tell a teenager no and expect her to back off. If I had paid any attention to his promiscuity, I would have known better. But I used to think he was living free, without rules, loving everything that moved and somehow that appealed to me at that age. I thought it made him desirable.

So one night while we had too much drugs and alcohol running through our systems, I became belligerent about us doing it. I had to know what it felt like and he was like a mentor, it had to be with him and it had to be right then. He gave in and..that happened, he wasn’t wrong. He didn’t show his soft side to me, he was like a wounded animal having its last hurrah before death took it.

The first time was consensual, I will take full responsibility for pushing him into it. I knew it didn’t feel as it should have but I had nothing to compare to. And I had already crossed the line, I had to keep going or he would me for a coward, would discard me like all the rest. When the genie is out of the bottle, it can’t be put back.”

She hesitated, deliberately avoiding the details. She felt guilty for doing so, he had shared almost everything with her. He continued to hold her against his chest, not pressuring her in the slightest, again he kissed her shoulder ever so gently.

“What became of this man?” he enquired, casual in tone though she noted a hint of something else.

“Firing squad,” she answered quietly. “He was one of two to get caught during the purge.”

“Good,” he seemed moderately satisfied, “However, had this occurred in Ishgard, I might have ensured a slower, more fitting punishment, a deterrent for anyone else who would consider doing the same. People are not objects to be used, Venice, not even our worst foes. We will not condone that behaviour in the new republic, I swear to you. Respect and trust are what separate us from the beasts, they are painfully earned but easily lost.”

She was caught off guard, both glad for his assurance but also worried about the so-called barbarism that her people thought lurked within the hearts of Eorzeans.

“I never want to be on the receiving end of your ire,” she said honestly.

“You will not have to worry about that, ever,” he held her hands to his lips. “Your enemies are my enemies, your friends are my friends. Even if the Council were to deny you aide, you will have Ishgard and I on your side. You aren’t alone, not unless you want to be.”

“I’m so sorry I took so long to get my shit together,” she blurted out, watching his eyes intently as he slowly kissed her fingertips.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for, my love.”

“I’ve had many other experiences since then, some better and some worse. Some with men, a couple with women. But casual sex hardly compares to being intertwined with the right person,” again she hesitated. A long list of cheesy lines ran through her head, every romantic song with its cliche lyrics making her cringe and grin with contempt.

“You don’t have to say more.”

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” she whispered. “You can’t fix a broken person, they must be willing to fix themselves. I’m still learning that lesson.”

\---

Aymeric’s throat was parched, like the heart of the Sagolii wasteland or the Highlands immediately after the fall, having spent hours imparting all of himself unto her, relief had come in a burst, leaving his skin dry and tingling for the next rush.

Presumptuous as it was to refer to oneself as a saint, his sole mission had always been to carry out the Fury’s demands, whether that meant intertwining with a nonbeliever who might find cause to covet something more or to treat her as the goddess Halone made manifest, he would do so. Thoroughly purified and cleansed by her untempered flame, he was ready to partake in her divinity, and so he did without equivocation. Her body was the altar, he the petitioner come to express his gratitude.

They had been ensnared in each others arms like a pair of couerl kittens huddled in a laundry basket of linens ready to be hung. Smooth caramel fields feeding into sinewy vanilla foothills, unable to discern where one ended and the other began. White and gold, the colours favoured by the Eastern rulers to show off their immense wealth, the material value of their devotion incalculable. Time had ceased to matter as a concept, as had place or presence.

The only sound that of the silken sheets shifting as she bent her leg or thrust her arm out to gather him around, her rounded peaks gliding through a clinging haze of new growth’s dark boughs, strands bending along in unison rather than hindering her sweeping passes. With wrists pinned, arms bent around the plush pillow covered in her distinctive pomegranate, he could exercise some degree of control, pulling up on top to take in the full view of recently charted terrain.

Every breath, every heartbeat sent a thundering shudder down his spine, her clarmouring barefeet taking their turns to walk up the small of his back, never getting very far. Her firm heels massaged and played, hands wandered back to the underside of the lofty peaks, a thirsting river in need of a bed to continue its trek towards the sea.

Pausing briefly to suck on the raised mark under her left breast, the remnants of the arrow that had caused them both so much grief, he began the true descent from the underside of her neck, pushing firm to the bone with hot wet kisses, the occasional nip as he settled motionlessly at her collar bone, taking stock of the rate of increased breathing. The tracing was not unlike the snowmelt against one of Ishgard’s highly regarded saints, leaving a glistening of ice crystals behind, whispers of passage.

The room was cooler than the Intercessory, the sheets were the main source of warmth, had been tangled and thrown aside. He made up the difference laying atop her, poised against sturdy elbows so he would not cause her harm though every shake threatened to undo the delicate measure. She had no such restraint, arching against the small gap between their flesh, prodding free of his grip.

He couldn’t help himself, the freedom bestowed, the barriers gone, he laughed while she moaned in response. To make up for the selfish gesture, he ran the hand that had held her at bay against an inner thigh, long slender fingers seeking new exploratory ventures. A light grazing, a caress with the backside of his hand, then a gentle squeeze to evoke a louder noise, an encore demanded and given. The kisses continued down, the other fingers marking the muscles curving from boastful breast to whittling waist, settling firm against the flat of her stomach, granting the shallow groove a pampered lashing, anxious to sample every taste she might have to offer.

Before continuing the southward trek, he sought a sneaky assessment, dark green orbs lit like magicked fire as she watched, shivering in anticipation. Her fingers were back in his hair, trying to gather one of the curls around her fingers, the base of one foot had rested in place. He entreated her other thigh to the same smooth delights as the first, not skimping on any detail. Small lips discovering a welcoming carpet of amethyst, rolled out to show him where the crown jewel lay within its protective housing.

She lurched suddenly beneath him then, for a moment startling his advance. Heavy breathing, breasts bouncing with fervour, one hand on his shoulder, nails digging in. He had no need of a written invitation, the second foot joined the first, taught Highlander legs wrapped around a slim Wildwood frame. Sliding down without a sound, he broached the chapel gates and made to secure the prize within.

The jewel therein was elusive, requiring several proddings to bring to bear against the tip of a moistened sword. But he was dutybound to protect and nurture her with the utmost care, sucking and licking gently as a kitten does for milk, hands meandering down the folded treasures beneath to the wellspring beyond. She yelled to the heavens, the light brushes of pointed ear tips ensuring her legs were not forgotten.

While she clutched and batched up the sheets into knots, he did battle with the dark forces that threatened to steal the light of his world away, smothering the would be villains with a layer of holy water, ensuring every groove was hidden beneath the wards, delicately yet forcefully erected. The ramparts secured, he was confident of delving into the halls that surrounded the courtyard garden that he cherished above any other, a probing to the knuckle assured him of her integrity but he had to form the perimetre lest an offensive came charging forth.

One slender digit was hardly enough to elicit a response, coupled with the circular guard supped from the top of the reliquary was another story. He kept a moderate pace so that she might not throw him off, the outcomes of his strategies sound if a bit weak in the knees. While one hand was occupied with ensuring the ruby jewel saw the breadth of the world, the other coddled her entryway with rigour.

Deeper inside, curled to grasp the legendary font at the end of the narrowing interior, the destination became irrelevant to the journey. The walls sweltered and swelled around, her own defences plunging against his van, another challenge threatening to hamper his valiant approach. The wellspring was overflowing but not quite the vast healing spring he had hoped to bathe in.

A symphony of acoustics laboured under his touch, an entire collection of distinct sounds with a singular message of encouragement. The fingers on the less occupied hand wandered up to her waist, the enticing curvature that he couldn’t resist kissing. Her skin was exotic and lovely, he could have spent a lifetime covering it in his warm scent. But she was not an object to be polished at his will. More than the hero she was a woman, an abundance of life within his merciful grasp, someone he valued more highly than the stars themselves.

Kisses continued to be planted, delicately along the curve of her belly, as rigid as any adventurer’s but certainly womanly and whole, a sign of good health and a testament to her own self-care. His thumb pressed inwards against the winking hole, while his lips diverged to double check the jewel was readily on show. Satisfied by the gem’s presence, he went back to puckering its radiance. She shouted a rallying cry then as both relics were invoked in tandem, a lone finger still rushing against the stream bursting its banks inside the holiest of holies.  

More was begged and he delivered, sending the second soldier to the front, intensity rising as soon as it joined its partner’s noble pursuit. Their hearty skirmishes whittled away at the lofty floodgates, degenerating their ability to be of any use. The hot lubricant spilling forth against once tightly worn rings, swivelling in their new freedom. Cool metal rubbed against the ribbed outer walls, empowering her relentless pressure. Two legs threatened to halt the soiree, pounding down against stubborn, tantalising eartips. Her fingers had long ceased to reach for them, he felt it best to tilt inwards, to pluck the fruits of his engineered procession while the opportunity remained.

Slowly he continued his work, ensuring maximum pampering was laid upon the most precious gift. She grew breathless with each thrust and so did he, sweat gathering at the brow mixed against the lake of her passion, tongue marching through the trenches to join the rest of the squad. Though he did not possess much, he would yield all of it to her, no one was more due the embrace of bliss. She had her own demons, hinted at but relinquished in favour of combating his, he would let her know that she was worthy of his sword wence called upon, whether it were flesh or steel. When it was all said and done, he might purge her sins as well as his own.

Where Hyuran ears may have been muffled to orchestrions dispensed from plump, rosy lips, he was unable to miss a single quavering gusto. Balance was key, maintaining the rhythm garnered from his own pressings and blowings, harnessing the notes which elevated them to another threshold. The chorus of all living things surrounded and penetrated them, together emulating the golden era of Hraesvelgr and Shiva. Strife or struggle duly absent, ecstasy the only constant. Onwards they undulated in harmony, perpetual desires looping in and around the cracks left between their respective broken edges, the glue that would make them whole again.

The bold maneuver, overly ambitious as it was, had paid off. One of her fingers continued the task his tongue had left behind, demonstrating her own pinching and rolling pattern. He moaned at the sight of her joining in, almost forgetting where he was. So much had happened in one night, how had he come to be lost in a new world.

He leaned up on his elbow, watching her lustful face for a time, the inferno in her eyes terrifying and alluring. Carefully he reached for her shoulder from underneath her arm, lifting himself awkwardly as she threw herself around his shoulders, the fingers reaching along his neck playfully at first.

She buried her face against the patch of modest chest hair, mewling and crying out as his ramped up the momentum. He could not stay upright for long, another hand reaching for the base of his spine to march upwards. He had come to cradle her in a fashion, as a mother might though he wouldn’t know, feeling her shakes against his own skin, rocking hard, quivering softly between the larger waves. Her grip tighter, pulling him down so that he had little choice but to impart her flavour back to the source.

Unable to formulate words, his vessel spilled forth into hers and she did not seem displeased by the resulting mixture. They danced a determined tango, sparing no expense, tongues writing letters they could not speak. She came up for air every couple of seconds, each time returning to overwhelm his senses anew. Her tough arms bespoke the deeds she had accomplished, the light fingertip caresses turned into aggressive talons seeking sustenance. Eventually he gave in, finding it easier to lay flat atop her solid form than not.

Whilst they were engaged in savouring the victory of his first crusade, his lifegiver remained stiff and throbbing in reserve, waiting for the right moment to be presented. His head was nestled against a delicious thigh, beyond which the saturated floodplains stretched onto the next rising mound, casting shadows across the hidden valley. Fingers still held in deep, her legs quaked with turbulent tremors, holding fast against the building storms.

Her sounds escalated to the beastial, gutteral utterances that spurred his own primal urges, she had half-closed lust-filled eyes, a look of pure delight and gratitude in equal measure. He knew then that she had been right, he could not be himself whilst worrying about the needs of others. Feeling her joy was like flying free in the Mists on dragonback, the results were plain and obvious. If he accomplished nothing else, at least he had reciprocated in stealing away her troubles for a time.

Confidence bristling, he returned where he began, the tip of the next finger trudging against  the surging waters. A high pitched hiccup as she breathed in too fast, an incomprehensible whisper searching for missing words, blinded by bliss, seeing magnificent conjurations that he could not. By that point, his own quickened breathing was heavily unrecognisable, the language of passion having become universal.

Her final release was close at hand, the triumphant celebrations already booming. Meanwhile, the trumpets in the field were beckoning him to assemble for the decisive showdown. There he would wait for the wall to come down.

An unexpected, soft knock on the door reminded them both that no rest awaited the righteous.

“Fuck me,” Venice groaned at the intrusion, knitting her hands behind her head as she scrunched up against the pillow. Her hair was a wondrous mess sticking to her face.

“Trying to,” he whispered, cuffing her earlobe with soaked lips. While the hesitant third digit withdrew, the other two remain solidly in place. She bit her lip hard as he gradually shuffled them around, allowing the tension to mount.

With his marginally free hand, he scooped up the blankets and tried to hide her body from view. He was not a selfish man by any means but that night he wanted her to himself, doubting she’d disagree. The stoneworks were thick and with any luck had confided their sultry overtures from the outside world, even so he was already planning how he might spin the controversy in a positive light. Venice writhed silently in place, other matters on her mind.

“My lord?”

“‘Tis open, Honoroit.”

In came the auburn haired Elezen, a silver tray delicately propped against his shoulder. Without any light, he took a few moments to adjust to the stark setting. He set the tea set down on a nearby sidetable, designed for the very purpose. Venice was holding her breath, Aymeric could tell with how her chest tightened. He folded his arm around the shoulder facing the door, just in case the blankets failed in their concealment, she smiled at the offering of comfort. Their hearts thudded against each other, how the hours had flown by.

“Isn’t it a bit breezy in here? And not one lit candle. Are you sure you are quite comfortable like this?”

“ _Quite._ ”

“I wouldn’t mind fetching another blanket or two or.. Oh, am I intruding. I did not think my lord was occupied but I swear I saw..”

Venice sneezed suddenly, turning her head to face away from him.

“ _Lady Venice!_ ” the scandalised manservant panicked, backing away towards the ajar door which was letting more cold air in.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she greeted him cheerfully. “You’ll keep this to yourself, yes?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of inciting scrutiny towards my lady!” he promised, still paralysed with fright, the young man’s gaze shifting between them. “Heavens forfend that Lord Emmanellain finds out, I should think it best he didn’t know.”

“Agreed. One more favour?”

“Anything!”

“Might you procure a second tea mug, for my guest here..”

“With all due haste, may you uh.. enjoy the rest of your evening? Pray forgive me, my lord, my lady,” Honoroit bowed graciously several times before departing, the door closed gingerly behind him.

“Now, where were we?” his voice dripping from quenched desires, gazing down at her shivering form. The interruption had left him bereft as well, the blankets needed to be redoubled.

“Something something let our passions run wild,” she hummed, drawing patterns against his shoulders. A long gasp as she wriggled close, she had reached the peak and so he made a comfortable spot for her to snuggle while coming back down. No sense in pushing for more, he stroked her hair as she enveloped herself in his aching arms. He contemplated cleaning his fingers, sticky as the centre of a Sohm Al tart, likely as scrumptious.

“I want you,” she said, meeting his tired eyes. “Not just here and now, but.. indefinitely.”

Everybody wanted something from Aymeric; a politician was supposed to fulfill the needs of others. But wanted _him_? Very few treated him as an individual with his own thoughts and feelings. Had he not been so riled up by arousal, he might have wept. It was the happiest night in his life by far, how fortunate he was to spend it with his beloved.

“Then you shall have all of me, as long as it pleases you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, a pair of knights rode up the hill towards Steel Vigil against bone-shattering winds and hailing ice to pay respects to their fallen comrade. Venice took her black bo, Octavia, out to stretch her legs, hoping to get as much out of the ordeal as possible. Though the weather was less than ideal, one could not put off what needed to be done; sometimes there weren’t second chances and sometimes the words weren’t quite right.

A noble sacrifice, a knight’s calling, to die in the name of service.

One day, they would do the same.

Behind them, the garrison fell away, pretty as a painting, only the braziers marking its majestic walls against the blinding white. The vigil was derelict but empty of the Horde’s feral beasts, would remain so until it was rebuilt to completion. Visible progress for all to witness. Ishgard had many problems but none could be solved had one man not been the shepherd of change.

A brother, a son, a friend, loved by all whom met him.

An inspiration and an aspiration, never to be forgotten.

At the markers, they dismounted, the silent chocobos following after their masters, aware of the emotional burdens they bore. Venice squeezed Aymeric’s hand, lest he had second thoughts about the journey, guised as ensuring the plummeting temperature did not leave a lingering impression. Her cloak was comprised of silver wolf pelts, a gift from her younger brother, not as iconic as his but just as comfortable.

As soon as he caught sight of the familiar shield propped against the stone, he stopped with paralysis, no urging would make him move. The chocobos kept their distance, Octavia nuzzling his blue bird‘s neck with encouragement.

 _What a sweetheart_ , Venice thought. _Don’t let Antonius see you_.

“The storm is only going to get worse, we can’t stay all day,” she tried a dose of logic to penetrate his insecurities.

“You should go first, I haven’t figured out what to say,” he would have smiled under any other circumstances. The wind kicked up again, whipping their cloaks and hair around, he standing into it rather than against.

“Alright, I won’t be long,” she agreed, taking the last steps towards Haurchefant’s grave alone.

“Greetings brother, it has been a while, hasn’t it?” Venice said gently, kissing the cornerstone as she always did. She looked over her shoulder on the off chance that Aymeric’s courage deserted him but he stood watching her as a statue, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the capital across the void. She gave him a smile before turning back, sitting down cross-legged at the foot of her brother’s remains.

“You’re looking well, fresh lilies from Francel again,” she relaxed, leaning back on her hands, grateful for the presence of armour against the cold ground. “Still have the best seat in the house, if only the blizzards would let up today. From what I hear, the young lordling is doing a lot better these days.

All of the High House members are making up for lost time. It’s not in their nature but they’re learning to think of others as much as themselves. Sometimes the results aren’t apparent though everyone agrees that the time for idleness is over. You’d be proud of our brothers and Father, though he keeps finding new chapters to add to his memoir.

As for me, you know life doesn’t sit still for a moment. The campaign in the East went off without a hitch, two more nations saved from oppression. Now they will be going through the same chaotic motions as the rest of Ishgard. It has to be done, but I wonder what they’ll say in the next Age.

Personally? Not much has changed. I’ve a few worries about my increasing power after toppling the latest villain, I don’t want to be the next Lousioux, I don’t want to be called on every time the world is on the brink. I still can’t hear Hydaelyn, so take that for what you will.

Wish I had planned this visit better I might have brought some rice wine from Othard, shit is deceptively strong if you can get past the blandness..

But I didn’t come here to catch you up on my happenings, we can do that later. I brought a friend, he’s hesitant to confront you, thinks it’s all his fault what happened. We both know that isn’t true, it took me awhile to get the idea out of my head. There’s a lot on his mind right now, amazing that he can get through each day without breaking down into anger or sadness. I’m working with him, don’t worry. No matter how stubborn, I will not lose another friend.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that we have a lot in common, that’s probably why you loved us so much. Sitting around moping won’t help anybody, we must carry on. If we’d just open ourselves up more, there is naught we could not achieve together. It has taken some of us longer to figure that out.

I.. hoped to keep this light, with witty jokes and poking fun.. but that was your role, wasn’t it? I’ll do what I can, make sure Aymeric doesn’t take things too seriously. Someone has to keep him out of trouble.

And on that note, I think I’ve said enough for now. May you ever walk in the light of the Crystal, brother, we’ll talk again soon.”

When she reached Aymeric again, he didn’t seem to notice her approach. The stiff upper lip juxtaposed with silent streams down his face, she may as well have been a ghost come to visit him. What other horrors lurked beneath that he had left to share?

“Have you thought of anything to say?” she touched his arm, pulling him around her as she leaned in close. Heartbeat racing so loud it could be heard over the storm’s howl. A heavy sigh, a whimper against his stern embrace.

“Nay.”

“Words, deeds, and beliefs,” she leaned up on her toes, a light kiss on the cheek. “You need to say goodbye, he’s not coming back. Not like Y’shtola or Thancred. Make your peace at last.”

He stood against the wind then, cloak billowing, obscuring the view. Hand out at his side, she took it.

“I’ll be right here,” she assured him.

“Fury bless you,” he went to touch the stone, closed his eyes, and said his piece without words, kneeling in prayer until he was done.

Venice stayed with the chocobos, sitting against a rock wiped clean of its snowy covering, knees to her chest as she tried to gain control of herself.

“I should have known,” he said quietly as she joined him, together they looked out at the cityscape. But he did not see Ishgard then, he saw only his reflection. “My father did not have to strike me down to get what he wanted. He knew I would not be able to handle the pressure in his place, he need only lend me the rope to tie the noose.”

“Aymeric..”

“It should have been me! I should have protected you that day,” his emotions had reached peak fever-pitch.

“What would that have changed!”

Why did either of them have to die, why was it a gods’ damn competition to see who could sacrifice more.

“Haurchefant would have kept going, he would have done everything I did.”

“Maybe but you don’t know he wouldn't have died some other way. And he certainly wouldn’t had had the right argument for Hraesvelgr. We could play what ifs all day but this is the reality, the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can recover.”

He was shaking, but not from the cold. The fear in his eyes, the hopelessness, he looked as though he wanted to jump out of his own skin. Had they not broken through the night before, how could one night fix everything. She tried to lure him back close to the gravestone, away from the cliffside’s edge.

“Thordan killed Haurchefant, not you. Not me,” she shouted at him, through tears of her own, fearing for the remnants of his sanity. Had he forgotten everything they had gone over so quickly.

“Ser Zephirin..”

“Was acting as his instrument.”

“He was like a son to the archbishop, the son he wanted.” The bitterness pierced sharper than the hailstorm surrounding them.

“Cut out this poison before it consumes you, you are not beholden to the dead. You are beholden to Ishgard and I am beholden to you.”

Blue eyes stared hard.

“A fool to the last,” was all Aymeric could manage, his hands offered in surrender.

“You’re _my_ fool. Haurchefant might be gone but so too is the archbishop. This is the part where we start over. Together.”

He took another look at Ishgard and lost himself. A wounded cry, of a wyvern with its wings pierced by a full volley, he did not simply weep as one does in a church but as one after a massacre, a lone survivor surrounded by horrors that would plague him for the remainder of his days. She held him best she could, his arms hung loosely around her shoulders but he was too heavy and too distraught. The grief had come without any softness, a surge intent on drowning him where he stood.

“When is it enough? When is it enough! All they have given is pain and suffering. Fury as my witness, I have done all that I can to appease them,” Aymeric’s shouts echoed across the landscape, she was sure they reached the city itself. Loud enough to cause an actual avalanche if they were in the wrong location.

“You are not invincible. Neither am I. That’s why we need each other. I did not slay Nidhogg on my own, did I?”

She would not let him go, not any more.

“It hurts too much, Venice. I cannot…”

Like being shot to the heart by a succession of crossbow bolts, the Echoes assaulted her senses in rapid, punctuating bursts. The memories were portrayed in disordered fashion, tragic events, euphoric moments, everything in between. Some were repressed, her unwanted powers tearing down walls without any regard for why they were placed.

Aymeric was not merely grieving the loss of a great friend all at once, a lifetime of guilt and anguish had been rendered loose. She fell to the icy ground under the weight of his arm, together kneeling in the snowing emptiness, hoping for relief but receiving only the opposite. His pain was her pain, the storm of blood had come to drench them whole.

\---

Not all that glitters is gold as Aymeric, aged five summers, was about to find out.

They were roused in the early hours whilst darkness shrouded the squalor of their surrounds, for what purpose they were not told except that they had been summoned. The tension was palpable, though he could not figure out why anyone should feel ill-at-ease in the company of two Heavens’ Ward knights.

Any boy’s imagination would have beamed at the sight of a knight, but those clad in the unnatural white, swaddled in a rich azure cloak, were known as the best of the best, the last defence of Ishgard. While other knights dreamed of conquest and glory, they were called to a higher purpose. The men were gruff, would that he had noticed through his admiration.

His mother said nothing, she held his hand tight and did as she was told, covered in no more than ripped peasant’s garb, having no respectable cloak to wear to wherever they were being led.

As they got closer to the Hoplon, the verdant gardens and flowing fountains were unlike the brittle brick structures he was accustomed, he hoped they would catch a close glimpse of the cathedral. Every day he could hear the tolling bells, music that set the pace of the day, sometimes the proud spires poking out between the confines of the upper buildings. He toyed with what he thought the Fury might look like were She mortal, was She adorned in splendid jewels, was the spear made of gold, the shield of some exotic metal he’d yet to lay eyes on.

Stone giants watched from their perches, the one in front of the Vault carried a large claymore made of brilliant larimar, his pose more warmongering than the rest. Without being told, Aymeric knew the grandiose depiction represented King Thordan I, the founder of Ishgard, the father of the great Haldrath who left the throne vacant to pursue the enemies of the land. The expression was unreadable, he couldn’t say why it upset him.

Several halls later, their escort grew in number along the way, more Heavens’ Ward and a couple of priests. The grip on his hand was cold as steel, still she said nothing, afraid to take so much as her eyes off the man in front. They arrived at a large chamber, an entryway for an even larger one which lay beyond. Inside he saw the legendary Empty Throne, gold and silver lining every ilm of the room. The priests were shuffled off, save one, six knights surrounded the pair. Even they seemed confused about their need to be present.

“Tell His Eminence we have arrived per his instructions,” the one in charge waved his hand. Four knights jumped to and left. The last remaining subordinate relaxed his haughty stance, motioning to the girl.

“If you’ve got anything to say, now is the time,” he nodded in Aymeric’s direction. The other knight gave him a disapproving look, crossing his arms, but did not speak against his sworn brother.

“What’s going on?” he asked, watching the knights warily as they afforded them a meager amount of privacy.

“You must find your courage, my son, and never let go of it,” she bent down to kiss his cheek, her snow-white skin radiating like freshwater pearls. She looked like she wanted to cry, her big eyes grey-blue, clear and clairvoyant, but she would not allow her final moments to be so tarnished.

“Why are you saying goodbye? Don’t leave me with these men,” he was a child, not an idiot.

High-pitch as his voice was, no one seemed to notice. She pushed the hair out of her face, long raven strands that curled up slightly at the ends, her most beautiful feature. Pudgy, youthful ears poking out from the blanket of dark, he wished he had thought to memorise every detail.

“If you want the world to be a better place, then it must start with you. Love them even when they don’t love you back, as the Fury does, as I do.”

The door opened, a new figure entered but he was not interested, trying to wrap himself around his mother. He looked around for anything he might use to fight with, that’s what knights were supposed to do. To serve, to protect the weak.

A gauntlet fell on her shoulder, “Time’s up, kid.”

She did not resist as she was hauled unnecessarily to her feet, fetters placed around her shaky wrists, the other knight lunged for Aymeric.

“Mother! Mother!” he screamed and kicked at the knight who had picked up around the midsection without much effort. The armour was too hard to bite through but didn’t stop him from scratching for the lining between shoulder guard and bracers.

Everything stood still as Archbishop Thordan VII strode past, oblivious to the dramatic display, the only sound that of his staff clicking against the tiles. His presence had absorbed all the oxygen in the room, somehow the candelabras remained lit. Though covered in the unsoiled, flowing garments of compassion, his respect was commanded through fear.

It was the first time Aymeric had laid eyes on the ruler of Ishgard, he couldn’t believe how nonchalantly he strode up to the throne and sat in it as it were made for him alone. The knight holding him snapped a salute with his free arm, letting down his guard long enough for the boy to land a telling punch between the plates. The Heavens’ Ward handed him off to the priest then, growling but saying nothing lest his superior think less of him.

Boredly, the archbishop flicked his wrist and the other knight led the young female Elezen away, restarting the surge of emotions that had fallen against deaf ears.

“Hear. Feel. Think,” she said in a whisper, her son screaming at the top of his lungs unable to do either of those things.

The priest held him by the scruff off his tunic as he tried to twist his way free, unable to see through the fog of tears cluttering his vision. But the priest was not as armoured as the knight and he was able to inflict some determined kicks against his wobbly legs. A hard flick against the backsides of his ears sent everything white, sharp pain drowning out his sorrow.

When the world came into focus again, she was gone, only the homely smell of figs and rosemary remained.

“The Fury is your mother now,” the priest looked down at Aymeric, a hand still pressed against his chest in case he made another bid for freedom. The sentiment offered no solace.

A conversation was ongoing between the archbishop and the senior Heavens’ Ward knight, neither seemed interested in the boy or his loss.

“Have you found the rest of the witch’s coven yet?”

“Nay, but they have nowhere left to run, they are rats trapped in the storm.”

“Good, I want the pursuit done quietly.”

“What of the boy?”

“Let the church find a use for him. Should he become too troublesome, you’ll know what to do.”

Somehow Aymeric found the will to pull free then, he bolted straight up the steps towards the throne’s lauded dais.

“I’ll kill you,” the boy shorter than the archbishop’s knees declared with his fists balled.

The steps were an awkward height for his tiny legs, he tripped and fell to one knee, already gathering himself to continue the ascent. He wanted to swat the stupid hat off his head, to wrap his hands around the scrawny neck.

“You very well may try, my son, but it will not bring her back,” the older Elezen leaned back, unamused, not threatened any more than as if a bug had flown into the room.

His eyes went big, the word “son” had not been used in the condescending tone favoured by the clergy. Realisation dawned on them both at the same time, “Father?”

He remembered asking his mother numerous times what had became of him. In his own mind, he likened him to a fallen knight defending their home far into Dravanian territory, dying heroically in battle. Every time he had asked, it made her weep with despair, she’d admit that he was a man who could make their lives miserable if he knew, that that was the reason the stayed on the move in the lower levels.

The amount of pain the memory left her was enough to deter his questions. He could not have known the living hell she had sought to keep him away from. They said the truth was the key to freedom but he wasn’t so certain. She had left him and there was no going back.

Frustratingly, the archbishop continued not to acknowledge his son, his similar blue eyes elsewhere.

Aymeric found his courage, renewed with curiosity and vengeance. Almost to the last step, he pointed at his father, “You abandoned Her! You are a liar, a false king.”

Something heavy at his back, a gauntlet slamming him down between the shoulder blades, the pain did not amount to his mental anguish. Thordan looked straight at him then, vacant eyes, empty of all life. He sorely wish he hadn’t, it was the look of a man who had already given into his inner demons, the look of the abyss.

From there, his future was decided, he’d have to fight his whole life to gain the upper hand.

\---

The fighting was over and a mountain of work awaited Aymeric back in the confines of the Congregation. Rather that tackle the impossible task, he returned to the one place that he always went to when he needed to think, to be test his resolve, to remember what it was all for.

Under the Steps of Faith, close to the Brume, the scaffolding had not changed throughout much of his life. But that time he was not there to see how far down he was willing to venture, instead he had come to embrace the endless emptiness as an old friend. The first time he had discovered the path had been considerably more disheartening.

It was before he had met Haurchefant, shuffling from one orphanage to the next, trying to avoid the gaze of the church which he had repeatedly ran away from. The rules didn’t bother him, the hierarchy wasn’t the issue. He didn’t like being treated separately from everyone else, like something was wrong with him.

He had been making coin as porter, dragging chocobos and their carriages through the streets from one vendor to another. One day, he was accused of stealing loafs of bread from one of the bakers. The baker in question had not been feeding his bos well nor had he invested in proper spokes for the wheels of the carriage.

Torrential rain had caused the cobbles to loosen, mud lined the streets and to no one’s surprise, the deprived birds were unable to work their way through the ruts. Someone had helped him get the wheel back on the street before disappearing into the storm.

He may have turned his back at one stage and the birds may have gorged themselves on some fresh bread which he had been tempted to take for himself. It was no fault of his that they were so ravenous or that the bread was so fresh. After the scolding, he swore he was done serving others, he would make his own way or die trying.

The abyss beckoned and Aymeric thought he could make the final step. Every time thereafter, he got a little be closer but never could finish the journey. Promises unfulfilled, doubts and regrets, every life lost.

He picked up a piece of stone and chucked it out into the storm of aether, it was shredded before it could even fall. Couldn’t even carry out the one task given to the Azure Dragoon.

“How! _How_?” he yelled at no one, trying to make sense of the summoning that had led to more bloodshed. As usual, the abyss provided no answers.

He sat there for hours, thinking of how much work had to be done. It was simply too much and his heart was aching still for those who had made it possible. So many had died to give him the chance to get it right, yet there he waited at the precipice contemplating his own selfish wants.

The sun began to set, filtering through the higher planks to coat his face in reds and golds, always a beautiful sight. No, he would not give in that day, he had to keep going. Had to find the Eyes at the very least. Even if that meant desk work rather than fighting on the field, even if it meant no more grand adventures of his own.

As if hearing his conviction, he saw a figure descend from the clouds, a spear in one hand, a shield in the other.

“Rise, my son, a Champion of Light is coming for you.”

He watched, stunned as She returned to the heavens, not knowing whether he had been suffering from lingering heat stroke from Gyr Abania or if the vision was true. Thoughts of Venice pushing on against another undeterred foe lured him back to his feet.

\---

The decrepit gaol was small and empty, save for Aymeric. No matter how his heart railed against the false conviction, he certainly looked the part of the conniving heretic.

Pools of stagnant water reflected what little light made its way into the dungeons. He didn’t need to be reminded of his shame. The broken nose, streaks of blood, hair clumped into patches, along with too many injuries to count. A dry cough as he tested the vigour left in him, one wrist broken, the other sprained, the same arm askew. Couldn’t even drag himself out of the muck, the shattered expression in the puddle taunting him with his father’s eyes. _Why?_

Between his one good elbow and the sides of his legs, he swung himself around to lay back against the lone corner, cold and damp, but solid.

_What had it all been for?_

A mistake could be learned from but he had done more than make a simple error in judgement. In an uncomfortable truth, he had seen opportunity to uplift them all, finding the reward worth the risk. Should have known the powers at be could not be swayed. The people would all suffer for his brazen, heartfelt attempt to convince the man with the hollow chest.

His friends had confided and entrusted him with the knowledge, so that he might find a better use than to stab them in the back. It would not be long before they were also put to the sword. To fall on his own would have been better, to take down an entire civilisation on the notion of hope? Should have stayed in the shadows where he belonged.

The physical pain was nothing compared to the risk of excommunication. He might have laughed at the irony, would it not render him in two. The church itself was a lie, a construct, another tool to enforce the status quo, should it have been a surprise? The archbishop was not the caretaker of his flock, he was a vindictive king like all those who had come before him. What did it matter that they shared the same blood.

What did _anything_ matter, the Fury had not prevented the upheaval. Either She was complicit or another trick of the imagination. His whole life was built around the belief system espoused by the church, his faith ultimately proving to be useless. He had taken the leap only to land on his face. Perhaps being called a heretic didn’t amount to very much.

He recalled Venice’s worried expression at the manor, the hopeful face of a true hero. A heretic, a foreigner, a friend. More than that, she’d never know.

How had it gone so wrong? Threatening his opponent’s king had only enraged his queen, Thordan left glowering at the other end, waiting for the turn of reprisal. He hoped retribution would be swift. Not content to ruin the chances of those in his lifetime, he had ensured the bleakest of futures. His failure would be shown for all to see, a deterrent to rebellion. And he would face it alone.

Had Nidhogg’s death not be a reason to unite and celebrate, to dream anew of the possibilities?

He tried in vain to lift his bowed head, _was it worth it_? Tears befell his bruised cheeks, wondering if the Fury looked on. What was left to believe in but death.

A muffled cry, steel against stone. His ears sensed an altercation down the hall.

“Hurry, we must hurry!” A young, anxious voice.

“Is this the right path, looks the same as the last,” Male, noble in tone.

“Check that one’s pockets, we still have need of a key,” Female, foreign but familiar.

“Fucking whoresons all of you!” Estinien, definitely Estinien.

His stomach sunk, what were they thinking? Could he not left alone in his misery. If Venice was with them, there might have been a chance but why should the Warrior of Light bother with him..

“It’s a veritable maze down here.”

“Got them. Torch down that way, we should check it out.”

“Haven’t seen any other prisoners yet.”

“Stay focused, the Fury will guide us.”

Another scuffle, too far to make out. Armoured footsteps, three pairs. The soft padding of an arcanist with its Carbuncle in tow, utterly out of place amongst the knights. More sword fighting, another lost soul. Thudding against a barricaded door, splintering wood crumbling beneath the weight.

The distant brazier lit up Lucia’s chrome-like armour as she came into view, plates covered in blood and scorch marks, how much he wondered had belonged to his own men. A body thrown on the floor, scudding to a stop with a lance in the chest, the sickly noise of Estinien prying his weapon free. Alphinaud’s aghast expression at the brutality around him, Haurchefant’s smile seemingly missing until he laid eyes on an old friend.

No sign of Venice after all.

With earnest, Haurchefant tried each key until the door loosened, hefty and rusty against its hinges. There wasn’t any room for anyone to get close but that didn’t stop Lucia from pushing her allies aside, bending over to assess the extent of the damage. Aymeric was utterly embarrassed at the state of affairs, his usual politeness eroded, anger all that was holding him upright.

“You’ve risked everything by being here,” he accused his second, more bark than bite. She should have known better, they all should have.

 _You should have known better_ , Estinien’s unspoken retort, as he took up a defencive posture lest they were chanced upon by the next patrol.

“Your life is worth more than everything,” Lucia’s words were a kick to the gut, another wound for him to endure. She tried to get a grip of his shoulder, “Lord Haurchefant, if you would.”

“Right!” his friend returned his shield and sword to his back, coming over to help prop him up alongside the first commander.

“Can you walk?”

“Don’t think so.”

“He doesn’t have to with us here,” Haurchefant’s classic positivity filling them all with encouragement.

“That may be but we shouldn’t even be here,” Alphinaud crossed his arms, not a shred of sympathy lay in his features.

“Would have been a lot later if not for Venice’s spirited insistence,” Haurchefant agreed.

“Where is she?”

“I should think she is fighting the Heavens' Ward while we attend to you. That was the plan at any rate, her passion is admirable if not a bit reckless. Kind of like someone else we know..” Lucia was trying to relax him with humour, she never was good at it.

All twelve at once? He knew her to be a champion among champions but even she would find the task impossible. She didn’t know what sort of magic they possessed, someone had to warn her fast. He struggled to his feet but the pain was too much, both Lucia and Haurchefant struggled to keep him steady.

“If any harm comes to her, I will hold you personally responsible,” Alphinaud rebuked him pointedly, reading his thoughts from another lense. His expression was severe, his criticism unabashed.

“Now is not the time to cast blame,” Lucia warned, her voice rising.

“Keep your mouth shut, boy,” Estinien interjected. “I will rejoin the Warrior of Light if you have things in hand here. Should the diversion prove to be less than successful, I will ensure the path remains clear.”

He turned to leave then, casting an apologetic glance at Aymeric, or so he assumed. He wouldn’t have gone if he didn’t think he was going to pull through. At least one of his companions had full control over their senses.

“I will not let this turn into a lost cause,” the young Elezen persisted, clearly fretting for Venice’s wellbeing.

“Too late.”

“It isn’t over yet. Aymeric has done his best, now we must do our best for him.”

Both knights continued to hold him aloft, the pressure momentarily relieved in various compressed joints. Alphinaud continued to go sour, being good for nothing but showing disappointment, his doubts clouding his thoughts.

“I did not ask any of you to join me in this fruitless endeavour, and for good reason! I did not ask Venice to risk herself against these monsters,” his voice shook hard. “Why should an outsider care for our plight?”

Lucia looked like she wanted to say something but refrained.

“She believes in you!” Alphinaud yelled back, his Carbuncle whipping its head around in concern. “This is not our war, ‘tis true but she has found something important here, worth dying over. Ishgard has done much for us and it is appropriate that we should repay the favour.

Is it not the most noblest of causes to help a friend when they are in need? Whether I agree with her methods or not, I will provide what assistance I can afford, I will not abandon her to her fate.

That said, we must be away as soon as we are able. While she buys us time, we are doing her no favours. We must reinforce her along with Estinien. If these so-called holy knights do to her as they have done to you.. I should not like to think of the possibility.

Regardless of what comes after, we cannot fail Venice.”

“My friends.. “ he was humbled by Alphinaud’s ferocity, guilty that he had led them down the dark path in the first place. “Thank you.”

“We will stop this charade, one way or another,” Haurchefant fixed him with uncharacteristic seriousness. “‘Tis time to finish what we have started, brother. The archbishop must see the hand of justice dealt. Should it mean death then.. then I will make the cut so you don’t have to. You’ve suffered enough under his yoke, more than any of us. Let me do this for you, the ramifications will be mine to bear.”

“He has gone too far this time, the punishment would suit the crime but..”

“Your freedom will only come when he loses his, this ends today.”

“Haurchefant..”

“We need to move. Now!” Lucia urged.

“Venice is brave and true, she’s one of us for sure. I can’t wait to see her face when we rejoin the fight, she’ll be so happy to see us both! You must believe in her, even if you cannot believe in anything else,” Haurchefant grinned with excitement, already thinking of the final battle and the ensuing triumph.

He gave Aymeric a kiss on the cheek, “For luck! May we see each other on the other side.”

\---

“ _Why_ , Venice?” Aymeric asked after the last Echo faded, his voice lighter than a whisper.

“Same reason that Haurchefant’s shield broke, same reason that Ysayle fell from the sky,” her meaning clear but he could not respond, the tears were gone as were the words. Only emptiness had taken root.

She couldn’t know how much time had passed, the memories had been innumerable, but his ears had gone blue with frostbite by then. He was frozen in place, still on the ground in a heap, face pink and puffy, couldn’t even find the energy to turn away. The avalanche had crashed down in one brutal blast, leaving naught behind but a fading body for a languishing soul.

A glance at the ground, droplets of blood in the snow. Grimly, she checked her nose, the headache pulsing strong.

“Aymeric?” she called, afraid he was about to blackout.

His ears twitched at his name but he still didn’t move. She shook him by the shoulders. Though she couldn’t see it for herself, his aether felt dramatically altered, forever changed.

“I’m not leaving your side, not until I know you’ve pulled through this,” she swore, hugging him to her chest. “First we must warm you up, we should go back to the Gates of Judgement.”

“I can’t be seen like this..” he said at last, looking utterly lost.

“That’s.. such a stupid thing to be worried about right now,” she laughed as she pulled up the hood on his cloak, gingerly tucking the fabric around his ears, rubbing them to ensure they were snug. “I’ll come up with some clever excuse if anyone says anything, alright? But this time you can’t get rid of me. Promise?”

“I’m scared, Violet.”

“I know, Blue. I am too, I’m scared of losing you.”

“You won’t.”

One needed to have a cause; not to die for, but to live.

She led him back to their waiting chocobos, helping him into the saddle since his legs had given out during the fall. Aymeric looked like a classic oil work, the highly decorated war leader atop his valiant steed, ready for a noble charge. He leaned back comfortably and slackened the reigns, sizing her up for a moment.

“For where else would I go, who else could I love but you?”


End file.
